


After Crait

by Numinex919



Series: After Crait [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-05-02 21:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14553561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Numinex919/pseuds/Numinex919
Summary: Considers Ben/Kylo and Rey's relationship after the events of the Battle of Crait. Not only the ongoing Force Bond sessions, but through these, their deepening awareness of each other as not just Force sensitives, but as man and woman.As their emotional and sexual awakening continues, how they deal with this, the growing attachment they feel and the natural opposition their paths create are also explored.





	1. Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 and 2 cover the same Force Bond session from both Ben and Rey's pov. I thought it was important to do so in these initial chapters so we can get a 'feel' for where Rey and Ben are at after their last 'meeting' on Crait. Because, let's face it, he can do all the puppy dog eyes in the world, but Rey is Very Disappointed! :) I hope you enjoy Chapter 1, which is from Ben's point of view.

__

_Darkness_.

 _Darkness rises and Light to meet it._ The voices overlap, multiply, echoing inside his head. A tremor rolls through him, sweat beading on his forehead as he resists what he knows is coming.

 _The dream_.

The same dream he’s been having since Crait.

The throne room, sparks and burning crimson. His Mast— _Snoke_ dead by his hand. The dark weight is gone from his mind for the first time in years. Leaving him oddly, terrifyingly light.

He holds out his hand to Rey, desperate for the feel of her determination, unwavering purpose . . . her _balance_. She reaches out and a spear of hot relief shoots through him.

This girl from Jakku, this _nobody_ will give him the strength he needs to hold his fractured soul together. To heal. To find the peace he craves so badly.

A burst of light blinds him, he lunges forward but all his clenching hand grasps is air and Rey is slipping away from him, swallowed by the darkness. Grief hits him in an overpowering wave. Tears stream down her face as she says one word before she vanishes.

 _Ben_.

Jerking upright with a gasp, it takes him a moment to orient himself. The familiar hum of the ship penetrates his consciousness. A glance at the digital display on his desk indicates he’s only been asleep for an hour.

He’s aboard the _Finalizer_ , one of the few ships not obliterated by the lightspeed run which had torn through the _Supremacy._ Had the _Raddus_ been dead centre on its final, fatal course . . .

Then Skywalker’s statement about not being the last of the Jedi would have been wrong.

_Had Rey agreed to his plea . . ._

He pushes the thought away, not wanting to relive his pathetic begging in his waking moments. He fists the sheets, a black tangle around him, testament to his restless, unfulfilling sleep. He’s so sick of the endless churn of memory, thought, emotion.

Anger surges in a hot tide but it feels empty of true power.

Reignited by Rey’s betrayal, Skywalker’s words, he’d ridden that savage wave into the heart of the Resistance base.

Only to have it stolen away by a pair of dice and a girl—the memory and promise of _belonging_.

Pain rips through him, sweeping his anger away, leaving him drained. The pure rage he’d so carefully nurtured over the years, no longer sustains him. Like a Corellian Sand Panther, exhaustion sneaks in, slicing at him with venomous claws.

 _So desperate to sleep_.

Lying back, he shoves the covers off, letting the cool air of the room waft over his naked torso. His tired mind conjures the idea of a sea breeze and before he’s truly aware of it he’s imagining an island.

Not just any island, but the one from Rey’s mind, which he’d pulled from her on Starkiller Base. The images she’d created, when she struggled to find rest, she too was desperate to sleep.

Anger fails to rise that this is where his subconscious has chosen to go. Instead, peace, _comfort_ settles over him like a warm blanket and he allows himself to slide further in.

This is only a dream and he’s so tired of fighting his need.

In his mind he dips his hand into cool water, watching it sparkle as it drips from his fingers. Cool breezes waft over him as he sits on the springy turf, enjoying the sensations against his skin.

He considers shedding the loose, black sleep pants, but after years of concealing garb, this feels like too much. It’s enough he’s already partially naked.

 _Vulnerable_.

Only one other person has seen him like this. _And he had allowed it. Prolonged it_.

A sudden splash makes him glance up. And there is Rey, emerging from the ocean, salty drops clinging to her eyelashes. Tendrils of wet hair curl against her neck like a dark caress.

She ventures further out of the water, and as she comes closer he checks for weapons.

She’s always quick to attack and he carries her marks. But she has nothing, not even his grandfather’s lightsaber.

And suddenly he notices something else. It causes him to go utterly still, breath caught in his throat, awareness burning through him like Sith lightning.

Her thin desert clothes are clinging to her in the same way they did after her experience with the Dark Side on Ahch-To. However, this time there is no semi-concealing blanket and fire-lit shadows to hide the almost transparent nature of the cloth.

No sense of finding a kindred spirit in solitude to dominate his awareness.

There is just her.

Her curves are clearly visible under the wet fabric. He wants to look away, but he can’t. Small, high breasts, lean thighs, gently flaring hips. His gaze tracks it all, greedy, compulsive.

Part of him wants to deny he has noticed these things, shocked he _is_ noticing them.

Another part of him, stronger and more compelling, drives him to keep staring. To notice her femininity.

Her body is a stark counterpoint to his. Delicate and small where he is thick and broad. Soft where he is hard. But she is powerful in the Force, every bit a match for him, despite her diminutive stature.

Strange tension fills his body, a tingling ripple running over his skin, into his muscles and bone, evoking a stronger flare of sensation, feeding back on itself like a closed circuit.

There is a roaring in his ears, along with the heavy, rapid thump of his heart. His breath catches as another riptide of feeling rolls across his body in an unstoppable wave.

He lies back, overcome by the intensity of what he’s experiencing, but his gaze doesn’t waver as he watches Rey come closer.

The roaring stops, becomes utter stillness. Then suddenly she is beside him on the soft turf and in order to continue to see her he must roll onto his side, so they are facing each other.

Inexplicably she is no longer wet, the tendrils of hair against her neck now like dark silk, her lashes curving fans as she stares at him. He reaches out an inquisitive finger to her cheek. It’s velvety and smooth. Her breath puffs warm and moist against his skin as he slides his hand towards her mouth.

Suddenly he wants to put his own mouth there _. . . to find out . . ._ what?

He has never kissed another, other than half-remembered displays of affection towards his mother. His mind shies away from the pain he senses those memories will bring and returns to _now_.

Rey’s bottom lip is soft under his questing finger, fuller than the top one. His own mouth tingles and he inches closer. She watches him, her gaze curious, a little wary.

There is something else lurking there in the depths of her hazel eyes, but it isn’t the rage he’s felt from her previously, nor the compassion.

No, not those things, though this is just as powerful. He feels it inside himself too. Like the pull to the Light, it wraps around him, dragging him closer.

Closer. Until only a micro-fraction of space separates them. Then they’re touching and the jolt is like a blast of Force power. The feel of her mouth is heart-stopping. She moves tentatively under him. Both of them are uncertain, despite their ages. He senses this is a first for her too.

All of the churning sensation racing through his body now has a focal point — the touch of their lips. It is too much and not enough. Suddenly he identifies the strange feelings.

 _Lust. Passion_.

The power of it is staggering, a revelation. He wants more of it. And he can sense, after a brief, stunned moment, that Rey does too.

_She nips at his mouth. Indulging herself, she sinks her small teeth into the lush fullness of his bottom lip and sucks, then brushes her tongue along the tender inner flesh, taking the taste of him into her—spice, smoke, winter woods._

It’s a shock to find himself in her mind and he quickly realizes it must be the Force Bond. Intrigued, he searches further amongst the heated tangle of her thoughts.

_So powerful. Intense. The feel of him, the velvety glide of his skin, and rippling power of his muscle. She runs her fingers through the lush blackness of his hair. So silky. His male body is made of contrasts, a balance of hardness and softness._

_She slides her hands down his neck to the broad width of his shoulders, one marked with the scar she gave him. The hard, unyielding feel of his big body is a shock, yet the sensation of his skin on hers makes her ache. There, between her thighs. She’s damp, needing,_ something.

_Confusion fills her—there is a reason she shouldn’t be wanting this . . . enjoying it. It hovers just beyond her reach. Ben’s scent wraps around her, along with his thick arms, heavy with muscle, causing the neediness to intensify. She rocks her hips, seeking to ease the sensation._

Breath rasping in his throat he pulls out of her mind as his body responds to her thoughts and feelings. He is hard and aching in a place he’s never given much thought.

Of course he had occasionally suffered the involuntary reactions of his body, but it had quickly subsided as he turned his mind away from the inconvenience, to other, more important matters.

Now it throbs with raw urgency, _demanding_ attention.

He wants Rey’s hands on him. Calloused from hard work, sliding over his length in the same capable way she handled his lightsaber in the throne room, grip firm and uncompromising . . .

A moan is choked from his throat. He becomes painfully aware of her fingers on his bare chest, her tanned skin an erotic counterpoint to the pale muscle. Her touch burns in the sweetest way, her scent, desert flowers and—

The comms alert pierces his awareness. His eyes shoot open. When had he closed them? He doesn’t recall falling asleep . . .

Multiple forms of sensory input hit him like a blaster bolt. The hum of the Force Bond grabs his attention above the electronic beeps, dulling them to a background annoyance.

Shock ricochets through him, shoving him upright in the bed. Rey’s hands slip from his chest, but he only peripherally notices. He’s too jolted by the realization that somehow, what he thought was simply a dream has turned into a Force Bond session.

 _Rey is_ in _his bed_.

Her expression reveals the same shock his is no doubt displaying. He quickly hides his reaction. Years of concealing his emotions from Snoke make it relatively simple, even as he’s aware of the pounding bass of his pulse, the electric tingling of his skin.

The brutal awareness of Rey lying in a flushed tangle amidst his black sheets.

An unacknowledged fantasy come to breathtaking life.

She’s wearing a simple tunic, her loose hair is knotted silk against his pillows. One slim, tanned thigh is still thrown over with his, pressing against the most intimate part of him.

Her shock morphs to confusion and then . . . there it is, that _look_ again. But it’s not quite the same.

Ah, no.

She doesn’t want to kill him, but she doesn’t want to save him either.

She slides her leg away, pushes herself up on her elbows and stops with an expression of chagrin. Grim amusement briefly fills him—she can’t sit up without coming into contact with him—and clearly she doesn’t want to do so.

Cool composure belatedly fills her face. Now she looks like a Jedi as she tilts her head.

“Supreme Leader.” Her tone mocks the title.

His mouth works, he struggles and fails to hold in the words. “You called me Ben, before.”

She tightens her lips and glances away before her gaze sweeps back to pin him. The Force Bond crackles in response to the emotion roiling between them.

“That name belongs to a person I thought I knew.” Her voice is cutting. The combination of it and her dismissive expression are a blade to the chest.

She gave up on them—him so quickly. On their potential to help each other through the loneliness and pain.

The desire to lash out surges through him and he shifts closer to her as she continues to recline on her elbows. His words, when they come, create a far greater reaction than he supposed they might.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem wanting to _know_ me moments ago.” He leans in so they are a breath apart. “I see what you want.”

“You see nothing.” She spits the words like venom. “How would you know what I want?”

The explosive surge of lust-hate-anger-passion that fills the Force and resonates between them is like a gut-punch.

“Because, I want it too.” What was meant to be an exchange of verbal barbs becomes a truth that rips the breath from his lungs.

Judging from her expression it does exactly the same to Rey.

He leans in . . .

With another humming roar the Bond session ends.

She’s gone and he’s left panting, aroused and alone in his bed.

And more unbalanced than ever.


	2. Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exploring Rey and Ben/Kylo's first Force Bond session after the Battle of Crait from Rey's perspective.

Rey scrambled back against the wall of her bunk, tucking her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. Her breath still came in harsh rasps, and her skin was tingling—over-sensitised. Mind an absolute mess.

_What just happened?_

She’d been exhausted, helping set up the Resistance base on a small, obscure planet in the Outer Rim near Felucia.

Collapsing onto her bunk had been a relief to her tired body, but her brain still buzzed with organisational data, plans, lists of things that needed to be done. 

And at the back of her mind . . . _Ben_.

A constant presence, a weight, an _awareness_ that would never leave.

Except, he wasn’t Ben any more. Intel had revealed he’d taken Snoke’s mantel as Supreme Leader of the First Order. He was back to being Kylo Ren.

Pain shot through her in a sharp wave, catching her breath. She’d _failed_ —her vision had been wrong. At least in the long term.

Yes, Ben had defied his Master and they’d stood together, but then he’d followed a path she couldn’t take, and now they were on opposite sides again.

_Still alone._

But it was worse this time.

Because, for a brief moment she’d known what it was like to _not be_ alone. The warmth, strength of Ben’s mind in hers, the feeling of unity, _belonging_ as they’d fought the Praetorian Guard . . .

With an angry snarl she punches the pillow before flopping down on it. It is hot in this room, the air cycling unit kept malfunctioning—yet another thing to see to.

Tension tightens her neck and she deliberately slows her breathing. Attempting to calm her mind, she imagines her island. Now she knows it was the one on Ahch-To, but that doesn’t matter.  

Cool breezes waft against her skin. Peripherally she hears the cycling unit hum to life, but forces herself to stay in the moment. Springy turf dotted with tiny, pale flowers invites her to rest. She lies down and is suddenly aware of a familiar presence.

 _Ben_.

She rolls over to find him lying next to her. He too turns on his side to face her and her breath catches. He isn’t wearing a shirt. Again.

His pale skin gleams like a Lalmy'ashian pearl, the heavy muscles of his chest and arms stand out in powerful curves and planes.

An uncomfortable tingling sensation fills her lower belly and spreads to her chest, making it hard to breathe. She’d felt this way the last time she’d seen him like this, naked, vulnerable. But her pain and anger had distracted her as she sought answers to why Ben had killed his father.

Now, she seeks his gaze, uncertain what she will see in that intense, dark stare. What she finds makes her heart flutter. Ben’s gaze is soft, with a tint of hurt loneliness, but behind this there is still that intensity.

 _Expectation. Need_.

He moves, reaching out a hand to her cheek. His touch is gentle, but she feels scorched at the contact. Her breath comes in quick pants as the feelings spread, sending ripples of sensation outward, downward.

His finger presses against her bottom lip. Lightning flares across her senses, blocking rational thought. Then, somehow, their mouths are touching.

The sheer impact of it is earth shattering. Impressions, sensations bombard her, too fast to process. She is aware of burying her hands in the night-dark silk of his hair, sliding sensitive fingers over the breadth of his wide shoulders and the hard muscle of his chest.

Who would have thought that skin so pale could burn like the blade of a lightsaber?

She simultaneously becomes aware that her body aches in the strangest place—between her legs—and that Ben is in her mind.

It isn’t intrusive, this time it feels natural. She catches the flavour of his own thoughts, his body aches too and she has a brief vision of her hands on the most intimate part of him, then their bodies melding together, hers gloving his.

Then he is gone from her mind—his own is chaotic, stunned.

A comms alert chirps from somewhere nearby. The sound so jarring and out of place in the warm dark of shared passion that her eyes fly open.

When had she closed them?

Ben jerks upright, gazing around, his expression shocked.

Then he stares down at her and his gaze becomes hungry, focused. But the hunger this time is different . . . _sexual_.

Before she can be surprised at the turn her dreaming mind has taken, awareness hits her like a meteorite. This _isn’t_ a dream, but a Force Bond session.

The look on Ben’s face is also not a figment of her imagination, it’s real.

Has he done this? Anger burns into her and she’s belatedly aware of her leg resting over the heavy solidity of his, something rigid between them nudging the tender flesh of her inner thigh.

She fights for composure as she realises what that is. Ben seems oblivious to the intimate contact.

She slides her leg away and attempts to sit up, but this will bring her in far too close contact with Ben’s, no _Kylo’s_ bare chest, the scent of winter woods and spice is enough, without touching him again.

It’s taking all her ability to remain composed as it is, so she opts to rest on her elbows, at least she’s not spread out on what she can only assume is, for him, his bed.

Gritting her teeth, she forces out words, still a little uncertain this is real. “Supreme Leader.”

She’s amazed at how composed she sounds, almost mocking.

Ben— _Kylo_ doesn’t like it. She can _feel_ the spark of anger her words stir in him. His mouth works and then he spits words at her like they’re forced from him unwillingly, “You called me Ben, before.”

Fresh rage surges through her even as she sees the hurt in his gaze.

 _No!_ He had a choice, she helped him. He chose another path, one he expected her to follow, but should have known she wouldn’t. “That name belongs to a person I thought I knew.”

She can feel the pain her words cause him as a faint gasp is forced from his throat before his face tightens.

His lips work over chewed back words and he leans over her, big and menacing. Far more so in his nakedness than had he been fully clothed with his red lightsaber hissing and spitting at his side.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem wanting to _know_ me moments ago.”

He shifts so they are a breath apart and her mouth tingles, over sensitive. So aware is she that she can’t help a quick glance at his lips as memory catches her off-guard.

“I see what you want.”

Shame washes through her on a hot wave. Did he somehow guess that even now, when she should be resisting him with every fibre, she also wants— _needs_ him?

 _His big, thick body, his taste, his rage, his curiosity, his vulnerability and his strength_. 

“You see nothing.” She spits the words using them as a pitiful shield. “How would you know what I want?”

A surge of lust-hate-anger-passion flares within the Force as her rebellious mind provides a flash of him fulfilling her forbidden thoughts. Consumed with humiliated guilt, she almost misses his words.

“Because, I want it too.” He sucks in a shuddering breath between parted lips as shock flashes over his features.

Her brain stutters for a moment as she struggles with the blunt reality of what he’s just said. Her throat clenches as the brutal truth hits them both through the Force.

This isn’t just about being alone. This is far more . . . _everything_.

Ben leans in, his scent curls around her and she can’t resist, her gaze fixed on his mouth as though it is the only thing that will save her. The mixture of exhilaration and terror is a fierce, heady rush that only the touch of his lips will subsume.

The Bond snaps off. Ben’s sudden absence is so jarring it forces out a gasp.

And here she is. Stunned, struggling to process what has just happened. When, _how_ had their—their relationship gone from kindred feeling, to hurt and distance, to _this_?

Because this is something she’s never considered before.

Of course she is aware of how various beings both sentient and non-sentient procreate. But the act has never applied to her. She’d been too busy trying to survive to pay attention to the occasional, strange urges of her body, dismissing them as unimportant compared to the hunger gnawing her belly and the exhaustion dulling her senses.

She’d distantly acknowledged males she met as attractive, but in a purely objective way.

And her interactions with Ben—no— _Kylo_ have always been clouded with so many other, overpowering emotions, she’d simply never thought about how contact with him had affected her on a physical level, unless it was in battle.

But now, huddled on her bunk, her body humming with this strange need, she can’t ignore it. The place between her thighs is uncomfortably moist and aching. She dimly perceives that what she’s aching for is what Kylo has, what only _he_ can give her.

 _Surely not_.

This . . . lust must be something that, once awakened, is transferable? She hastily conjures up Finn’s face, what she imagines he might look like, half naked in her bed.

Her mind shies away from the image and she shudders. It’s not that Finn is unattractive, she just can’t bring herself to imagine him _that_ way. He’s her _friend_. It feels like an invasion of that friendship.

What about someone she doesn’t know that well, like the fighter pilot, Poe? He of the sloe eyes and tousled curls. Again, she struggles to picture him without his clothes, touching his mouth with hers.

Her mind again shifts away from the image, it’s not as off-putting as the idea of Finn, but she feels uncomfortable imagining Poe like that.

Tentatively she recalls Ben— _Kylo_ and conjures up an image of him on the bunk beside her.

_His thick, black hair a stark contrast to the sandy-grey bedding, his dark gaze piercing, and intent in the gloom of the windowless space._

_His massive frame filling the narrow width of the bunk, acres of pale flesh over dense muscle, laid out for her . . ._

_If he were truly here, she’d have to lie on top of him if she were to rest, face pressed to heated, silky skin . . ._

A surge of lightning sensation rips through her, leaving her breathless and hot. She has no trouble at all imagining _him_ in her bed and her body’s response is utterly different.

The ache is back, but now it has spread to encompass her heart. This isn’t just lust, it’s something she doesn’t want to think about.


	3. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo/Ben finds a temporary solution to his frustrations. Rey witnesses something she didn't expect and Hux considers his plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter contains a slightly more explicit scene and is NSFW. If you prefer not to read, ahem, smut, then there are some other fantastic Reylo fanfics on Archive of Our Own. :)

__

_It’s been three days_.

Ben tightens his lips and quickens his pace along the _Finalizer’s_ corridor, as though he can outrun his thoughts and emotions.

 _It’s been_ three days.

And he can’t gain control over this—this _obsession_ with a scavenger, a nobody, a—

_Desert flowers, hot spice, silky skin, power and strength, softness and Light._

A wave of stomach-plummeting, breath-stealing _need_ washes over him. It’s so overwhelming he starts to pant as his body hardens and rippling energy surges through him, lighting up every sense and nerve ending.

He’s peripherally aware that he’s come to a sudden stop in the middle of the corridor, forcing the two First Order officers behind him to baulk and sidle around him as fast as they can, lest they become the object of whatever has stilled him.

They needn’t worry that they carry enough importance to chase away the cause of his sudden halt.

 _That girl_.

Nothing else, unfortunately, has such a claim.

She’s why he can’t focus properly on the interminable task of running the First Order and the galaxy. Why he can’t sleep, even though he’s exhausted beyond words.

Why he wakes constantly from feverish dreams of her touching his naked body with inquisitive fingers, even as her presence calms his fractured mind, and soothes his wounded soul.

He isn’t sure what is worse, the unbidden thoughts of quenching this insatiable lust between them, or the gut-wrenching rage and fear that Rey will seek to assuage her own newly-woken appetites with someone else.

Both send his mind spiralling like an out of control Tie fighter.

 _Mine!_ He screams it silently into the cosmos, willing the Force to hear and understand that she belongs to him and _only_ him.

He shakes his head, clenching his hands into fists so tight the leather of his gloves bites into the skin.

 _I will_ not _let this control me_.

He resumes stalking along the hallway, but his hand itches unbearably for the feel of his ‘saber, the satisfying impact of it cleaving through the walls around him.

As though he can cut out this newfound want, destroy it by laying waste to his surroundings. Yet he knows very well that this won’t work.

No matter how much rage he vents, it isn’t taking away the moments when she sneaks into his mind and his breath hitches and he remembers her mouth on his, her hands on him, her shy thoughts of what she wants _from him_.

The soothing feel of her nearby when the Force opens the bond between them.

Where _the fuck_ is she? It’s been three days and Force knows she’s been on his mind enough for a thousand moments of connection to occur.

Because isn’t this how it works? They think of each other, directly or even indirectly and the bond opens up, connecting them.

He stops again as a fresh thought slams into him like a stampeding Bantha.

Is she—is she _blocking_ him?

He turns, slashing a hand through the air. _No!_ She doesn’t have that level of training.

The reassurance feels empty. She’s so very powerful in the Force, and who knows what Skywalker taught her?

Fresh rage whips through him like a solar storm and the urge to slash and cleave burns yet again. His lightsaber springs to his hand—ignites—hissing and spitting, attuned to his out-of-control thoughts.

He adjusts his grip and a sudden memory flashes across his consciousness.

 _Rey adjusting her grip on his ‘saber as Snoke taunts her. Her emotions snapping through the Force, and all he can think of is how stunning she is with his weapon snarling in her grip, painting her face with red—the colour of power, blood_ . . . _lust_.

His body clenches and his breath catches again. So awesome to behold, he hadn’t even minded that his Kyber crystal had answered to her call.

A faint noise wrenches him from his thoughts. He focuses on his surroundings and realises he’s come to a stop outside his quarters. He flicks his ‘saber off and reattaches it to his belt.

There are people watching. First Order personnel and a squad of stormtroopers have all come to a halt, like nervous game, waiting for the predator’s next move.

Without deigning to glance around, he punches the entry code and strides into the privacy of his rooms.

Closing his eyes, he takes a few deep breaths, struggling to calm the swirling emotions without using his ‘sabre. He’s already done thousands of credits worth of damage in the last few days, no need to add to the cost. The destruction doesn’t help any more anyway.

Sweat slides between his shoulder blades and prickles along his forehead. He strips off his gloves and jacket, undershirt, boots—suddenly he’s ripping his clothes off like a madman.

He stands naked and panting, a glance down assures him he’s not imaging the jutting thrust of his body.

The ‘fresher. Perhaps cold water over his heated flesh will help? He’s aware of the sweat drying uncomfortably on his skin.

Ignoring the stiff heaviness between his thighs, he stalks into the ‘fresher unit. Grabbing some cleansing gel from the dispenser, he lathers it and struggles to keep his mind empty of thought. The familiar, rhythmic task of cleansing his body helps.

Until he comes to the most intimate part of him, which even the calmest thoughts have failed to make subside.

Gritting his teeth, he perfunctorily rubs his soap-slippery grip over the thick length. The contact makes him hiss in a breath between parted lips as he almost doubles over, his gut clenching, blood hot in his veins.

Rey slides into his mind and suddenly the touch is hers and the soapy gel is desert flowers and it’s so good, that slow stroke, right to the tip, over it, then back down, all the way.

 _Fuck_. Another hissing breath whistles out of him. His spine arches, the back of his head slams into the wall of the ‘fresher. A moan chokes out of him as he thrusts into the slippery grip and Rey fills his awareness completely.

The overwhelming sensation of touching his body this way makes him half-crazed as he continues to imagine it’s Rey’s small palm riding the steel-covered silk of his erection.

The twin weights beneath tighten and he can sense the seed ready to shoot from him. Logically he knows what is about to happen, but it has never happened before, so now he is running off instinct too.

Blood roars in his ears and he sucks in a breath. _So close_. He can feel it, rising in him, pulling at him in the same way the Light pulls at his soul, but this is far more primal, earthy. _Real_.

He opens his eyes. He wants to watch, though he knows he’ll see his own fingers, rather than the one he wants.

His gaze flicks to his busy hand. He is briefly surprised at how angry red the tip of his shaft is against the paleness of his clenching fingers. Grunts are wrenched from his lungs as he works himself.

He is right on the edge, about to slip off when something tugs at his awareness. He shoots a glance up.

For a stunned moment, as his body hangs in the space between what feels like the most sublime death and cresting ecstasy, he is certain he is imagining Rey, standing in front of him.

“Rey.” He barks her name on the back of a guttural snarl. His culmination roars through him and creamy seed spills from him. He sucks in a shuddering breath. Never losing eye contact.

And he realises then in a blinding flash that he wouldn’t imagine her expression.

Her mouth is hanging open, eyes wide and fixed on his body with a mixture of shock, embarrassment and the faintest hint of arousal.

She is holding a data file, as though about to put it down on something in front of her. After the first split second she jerks, as though recalled to her surroundings by something or someone else.

His breath is sawing in his throat, his body is strangely limp, yet his brain manages to finally process the fact that the Force has chosen to open the bond between them.

Rey has actually just witnessed him stroking his body to completion as her name is wrenched from between his clenched teeth.

In all of his imaginings, and he has imagined plenty of moments in which they are connected once again by the Force, this situation has never crossed his mind.

He’s so undone he can’t even raise the energy to cover himself. Humiliation fights its way through the satiation filling his body and he prays that rage will follow and save him from the emotion and the heat he can feel touching his cheeks.

Instead, shock forces a choked sound from his throat as he suddenly senses another presence within the Force, intimately familiar and standing right next to Rey.

Is that his . . . is that his _mother_?

* * *

Hux turns away from the _Finalizer’s_ surveillance monitors and he can’t contain the twitch to his lips as satisfaction fills him, heating his blood and putting a spring in his step. 

Ren’s behaviour in the corridor smacks of insanity . . . Stopping and gazing into nothing as though seeing something no one else can. Igniting his primitive weapon as though he’ll carve his way into his private quarters instead of using the door like a rational person. One would never guess he ruled a galaxy.

Ren had proven a surprisingly adept leader, managing the business of the First Order well enough. Albeit without the harsh retribution Hux couldn’t help but feel was useful in keeping certain elements in line.

He’d admit he underestimated the gravitas the black-clad Force-user possessed as he strode into a room full of nervous system representatives.

Ren used far more diplomacy than Hux thought necessary, but he had to admit one savage glance from that scarred visage was enough to send the most insubordinate former senator scurrying for cover.

Thankfully the out-of-control behaviour he’d exhibited in the appalling defeat on Crait hadn’t reared its head again. At least when the Supreme Leader was in company.

The hallways, control and training rooms of the _Finalizer_ were a different matter—especially in the last few days. But that was par for the course.

At least Ren had remade some of the ground lost in the encounter on the salt planet, despite the stories painting Skywalker as some kind of mythic hero.

The Resistance might have escaped, but their numbers were negligible and he was confident that scum would be scoured from the galaxy soon enough.

While Ren appeared disinterested in ensuring the Resistance was wiped out absolutely, Hux had made his first order of business to discover the whereabouts of those Silurian rodents.

He suspected they were hiding somewhere in the Outer Rim systems and had deployed spies throughout that area of the galaxy. Sooner or later intel would become available and the First Order would sweep in with merciless efficiency.

He’d allowed himself one minor distraction from eradicating that filth—demanding the live capture of the pilot known as Poe Dameron. Hux had a personal score to settle there and when he was done, the Resistance scum wouldn’t even recognise his own name.

Of course Ren must remain in the dark as to the Resistance’s whereabouts. Despite his apparent dismissal of them, it wouldn’t do to risk a repeat of Crait.

His insane behaviour onboard the _Finalizer_ was useful, though Hux couldn’t decide whether the current Supreme Leader should be condemned as a madman or tried for his treasonous act of killing Supreme Leader Snoke.

In some ways, it was unfortunate that Ren would eventually outlast his usefulness, but he was a danger to the continued might of the First Order, and to Hux’s own ambitions.

Soon enough there would be a new Supreme Leader and then the entire galaxy would quake at the sound of one name _only_.


	4. Unravelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey's response to Ben's . . . behaviour. An appeal from Leia. Insight into the Resistance's plans and some new faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who've commented, bookmarked or simply taken the time to read this Fic. I hope it's brought some delight to your day. I'm still getting the hang of Archive of Our Own as a contributor so my apologies for not answering comments. I really do appreciate them! I also forgot to mention that I post this Fic on Tumblr along with art for each chapter - so head on over and take a look. :) https://numinex919.tumblr.com

Rey ignores the discomfort of being the centre of attention as she picks up the data file with the supply information. She needs to make it clear that their unplanned shift to the frigid world of Rhen Var, with its abandoned Imperial outpost, has not disadvantaged the Resistance.

“As you will see, we have developed a solid supply chain to Felucia for foodstuffs and there is room for inclusion of— “ 

The unexpected rushing-then soundlessness of the Force Bond dulls the air around her and she bites back on her startled exclamation. 

_Why now?_

She’s right in the middle of this meeting, and while she trusts Ben can’t see who is with her, he can still hear what she’s saying.

Then there he is, shirtless as usual, and the shock of all that pale flesh and thick, muscular body is still enough to steal her breath and make her heart thump heavily in her chest.

Instinctively she meets his dark gaze . . . 

 _Something is wrong_.

His eyes are glazed, head thrown back, hair plastered to his face like wet, black silk.

_Is he sick?_

He tilts his head, levelling that hungry, intense stare straight at her, and the power of it snatches what’s left of the air in her lungs, sending ripples of awareness over her skin.

His broad shoulders are rolled forward and he’s bent over as though he’s taken a hit to gut. His breath is a harsh rasp in his throat.

A strand of night-dark hair slips to hang over one eye. His body is quaking as he bites down on his full bottom lip, sucking on it. She shoves aside the desire to be the one nibbling on that pouty mouth and scans his—

In one quick glance she takes in the fact he is actually _completely_ _unclothed_ and it immediately shuts down her ability to think as embarrassment wars with curiosity and that other thing she’s been trying to ignore.

 _Lust_.

Her concern that he’s struggling with some form of fever vanishes as her gaze travels down the curve of his arm, the muscles bulging as he rhythmically moves his hand . . .

The impact of Ben naked, wet and touching the thick length between his powerful thighs slams into her like a stampeding Dewback.

She can’t tear her gaze from the way his pale fingers work his erection, the coil of muscle flexing in his stomach as he thrusts into his grip.

“Rey.” Her name is a snarled gasp, torn from him as though he’s in pain, and her stare shoots to his face.

His expression is tight, as though he’s just been stabbed with a lightsaber and concern explodes across the storm of emotion swirling inside her, even as she realizes he is _certainly not_ in any sort of discomfort.

A small part of her mind knows exactly what Ben is doing—she hasn’t grown up alone in a desert outpost without seeing some things. But the rest of her brain is so overwhelmed—

“Mistress Rey, if I may—you were about to display the . . . ” See-Threepio continues to waffle.

But she can’t snatch her gaze away. With a cut-off curse the Supreme Leader of the First Order, Master of the Knights of Ren . . . Ben Solo spills creamy jets of seed at her feet while gasping out her name like it’s been forced from his unwilling mouth.

He finishes after what feels like an aeon and sags back against something, his gaze languid, breath sawing in his throat. He still clasps the solid weight in his hand, but Rey keeps her gaze fixed on his chest as embarrassment washes away the hot lust, replacing it with burning humiliation.

 _She just stood there and watched. Hadn’t even tried to look away . . ._  

A sudden shift in awareness deepens the heat in her cheeks and she darts a quick glance at Ben’s face. His expression almost immediately reflects shock and she knows that he too has become aware of another presence in the Force, at the same moment she has.

_His mother._

The absurd desire to burst into hysterical laughter pins her and she bites her lip on the urge to reassure Ben that while both of them can sense Leia and she in turn can sense _them_ , she hasn’t just seen her son doing . . . _that_.

He straightens, intense expression back as his eyes dart around, then the Bond snaps shut.

“Mistress Rey?” See-Threepio’s polite nagging fills the void, bringing her back to the fact she’s in a room full of waiting representatives and has stopped dead in the middle of her talk for longer than is easily explained.

“See-Threepio, please be quiet. My apologies, there was a disturbance in the Force. Rey, why don’t you go and lie down for a moment, while I fill everyone in on where we are at?”

Leia’s tone is all smooth diplomacy, but the Force resonates with amusement. She might not have _seen_ what Ben was doing, but she’s sensed enough to know something was happening and that Ben and Rey are in touch through the Force.

All she can do is nod dumbly and make her way to her quarters. Thankfully she doesn’t encounter anyone in the chilly halls.

Rey leans heavily on the control pad, shutting the door behind her. Sitting abruptly on the edge of her bunk, she tries to slow her breathing. Her body is trembling and she’s not entirely sure whether it’s shock, arousal or an overwhelming combination of both.

She rubs her eyes, but the images replaying in her head seem burned across her retinas— _dear Gods_ , _she’s never going to be able to forget_ . . .

The way he gasped out her name, as if she were the cause of him coming undone.

A stomach-drop sensation hits her as the scene flashes in her mind’s eye in a series of snapshots. She has seen Ben vulnerable in the past, but _never_ like this.

If anything, she’d thought his absence over the last few days was due to some Force trick he was using to block her. 

She’d tried to reason that this was for the best. They were on opposite ends of this fight, despite their brief unification.

The warmth of the Bond between them—a connected awareness of how Ben was moving, his next thought and action—shared moments of truth, knowledge and understanding. A fainter echo was there every time the Bond opened between them over the vastness of space and she . . . _missed it_.

Missed that feeling of connection, of no longer being _alone_. With a growl she shoves aside the thought, her hand cutting through the air.

No! He’d made his choice—

The fire in his gaze as he helplessly shuddered to climax . . . _says no choice has been made._

Her breath catches in her throat and she jumps at the soft knock on the door of her quarters. Opening it reveals the one person, apart from Ben— _Kylo_ she doesn’t want to see right now.

“Leia . . . I—”

“May I come in?”

“Yes, yes of course!” Rey bites back on her desire to say no and hastily picks discarded clothes from the room’s only seat and gestures for the general to sit.

Leia does so with a sigh, before throwing her a shrewd look from a gaze very reminiscent of her son’s in that moment.

“Leia, Ben and I—” This time she cuts _herself_ off. The use of his name is a giveaway in itself. Fresh heat burns her cheeks as anxiety tightens her chest, making it feel like she can’t get enough air.

The general holds up her hand, rings twinkling in the cool, blue light. “Rey, you don’t need to offer explanations.” She smiles ruefully. “For you or my son.” There’s a pause as Leia clearly chooses her next words.

“Ben was always strong-willed. With parents like us, it probably shouldn’t have been a surprise.” The princess’s eyes become misty for a moment as she focuses on a memory.

Then her dark stare snaps back to Rey. “There is clearly something powerful between you—and I don’t think that it’s hatred, at least, that’s not what I felt—” Leia stops again her gaze flickering over Rey’s. 

“Rey, if there’s any chance—” her voice wavers, “any chance you can bring my son back, then _take_ it.” She purses her lips and drops her gaze to the cane she rests her hands on.

“I have never put my own selfish desires ahead of the welfare of others, but I’m asking this. I trust you to always do the right thing, but I also think you are the only one who can give Ben the balance he needs.”

With a heavy sigh Leia stands and gives Rey a look full of compassion, wisdom and rueful understanding. “And, when the time is right, tell Ben that if he only believes in things when he can see them, he’ll never find the balance he needs.” 

Rey searches her brain for something to say as the Resistance general makes her way to the door, but there’s only a profound sense of the weight of what Leia has entrusted to her. And oddly . . . a sense of . . . hope.

Rey slowly follows in her wake, back to the meeting room.

When she gets back, it is to find Poe Dameron has arrived with four new faces. The giant, hairy form of a Wookie who is introduced as Trensayhrr and who appears to be slightly in awe of Chewbacca, if the furtive glance he throws her co-pilot is anything to go by.

Poe introduces the others. “Tiophi Tak is our new Mon Calamari contact in the wake of the sad loss of Admiral Akbar. He and his Quarren counterpart, Cal Prer will be overseeing the acquisition of a new fleet.” Poe’s voice is businesslike, but doesn’t quite hide his ambitious determination.

“Sogr Strull,” he nods to a Mandalorian human leaning nonchalantly against one wall, “Will oversee supply and logistics of weapon acquisition.”

“Rey, Dakk Tsur will help with any repairs to the Falcon as well as data acquisition.” Poe indicates the Sullustan at his side, who nods politely at her, his dark gaze alert.

“Now, shall we talk about our next move, General?” While Poe still defers to Leia, it’s clear she’s not only grooming him to take over more of her duties, but that he’s relishing the idea of being in charge.

Rey can only hope his impetuosity has been somewhat curbed. Rose and Finn don’t seem to have any issues with his behaviour, but she’s heard stories from the more reserved elements of the Resistance about what had transpired while she was on Ahch-To. 

She’s chosen to wait and see what happens, after all, _she_ cannot pass judgment on anyone.

_Dark eyes filled with need. Pale skin covering thick muscle. Dangerous scars, and midnight hair, that mouth . . ._

She stifles a gasp as the visions flash through her mind’s eye and resolutely focuses on the conversation around the table.

Ben Solo—Kylo Ren is not going to distract her again. Next time she’ll be prepared, she’ll—

_“Rey.” A strangled gasp as he—_

No. _I will_ not _let this control me_. With grim determination she focuses on the rest of the meeting.

 

* * *

Ben throws an arm across his eyes as he lies among his tangled, black sheets.

As though that will block out the memory of Rey’s gaze upon him, travelling over his body like a caress, stroking him to climax.

He strains under the cloth of his sleep pants, aching and hard, yet he resolutely ignores his willful body. 

It was a bad idea the first time.

And afterward the shame. Of his lack of control. Of her seeing him like that, more than vulnerable—completely undone.

Then, the most unexpected presence, lingering bittersweet on the edge of awareness. He thought his mother had died in the attack on the _Raddus_ , but she’d somehow survived, and she was with Rey. 

Safe. 

For the moment.

Hux is trying to sniff them out. He can sense it, much like many of the other thoughts the First Order commander has attempted to hide.

There is really only one question Ben needs to ask.

What is he going to do about it?


	5. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I did not plan for this chapter to go the way it did. I simply gave in to a scene which was nagging at me and suddenly things are going in a completely unexpected direction. The good news is that the next chapter is already unravelling in my head. As a professional writer I'm used to my characters doing unexpected things, but I certainly didn't think the Supreme Leader would be so . . . unpredictable. I hope you enjoy this chapter and don't feel it's just more of the same . . . I obviously just can't help myself. :D As always, this chapter is also posted over on Tumblr (https://numinex919.tumblr.com/post/174136953044/after-crait-chapter-5) with artwork inspired by events in the story.

“Ben!”

Rey’s semi-shout makes him flinch, though he gives no other indication of having heard her.

“I don’t want this any more than you do. The least you could do is acknowledge me.”

Because he’s right in the middle of a meeting with Hux, Captain Peavey and a mix of high-ranking First Order officers.

“Right, that’s it! I’m not going to acknowledge your presence either.” Distinct huffiness.

Truth be told, he not only can’t acknowledge her presence without appearing insane to the men gathered around the table.

He also doesn’t know what to say. The last time the Force connected them he had his dick in his hand, shouting her name as he came. Hard.

The back of his neck heats as he recalls her stunned response to his . . . lapse in judgment.

He wishes he hadn’t been tempted to lapse again.

But the reality is he hasn’t done anything further only because he doesn’t want to risk Rey seeing _that_ a second time.

And he knows why, though the reason has him clenching his hand in a tight fist. _He cares what she thinks of him._

What _must_ she be thinking of him? _With the memory she now has of his satiating an animalistic urge . . ._

“Why won’t the Force let me shut the connection?” Frustrated annoyance leaches out of her voice.

“Supreme Leader, what are your thoughts?” Hux’s tone might convey respect, but he despises having to do so.

The Force hums with Rey’s attempts to shut it down, Hux’s anger, disgust and resentment coil through it, along with the boredom, irritation and contempt from the others in the room. Between it all and the lack of sleep and frustration, it stokes his tumultuous feelings to boiling point.

“Enough!” His snarled rage freezes everyone in to stunned silence. A quick sideways glance assures him Rey is still there and he has little time before she loses her temper.

“General Hux, I have given you my thoughts on what to do with Sonn-Blas’ new proposal. I will leave the finer details to you.” He stands, determined to end this interminable meeting.

“Before we adjourn, Supreme Leader, there is one other matter . . .” Hux’s feelings within the Force carry a deep hint of gloating delight, though his tone remains carefully modulated.

“Yes, General?” He detests the fact that Hux has stopped, forcing him to respond, a petty act that nevertheless is a power play.

“There has been word of Resistance presence on the Outer Rim planet of Felucia. I have sent two of my best operatives to confirm if the reports are true.”

“You think the Resistance is hiding in the Thanium Sector?”

Rey’s gasp is enough to confirm that Hux’s intel is undoubtedly correct. He risks a glance and yes, her face has paled, eyes luminous with worry as they meet his. He glances away from that pleading expression. She made her choice to reject his offer. The rushing sound of the Bond closing sends a spear of something he chooses not to name through him.

“I will take a small contingent to Felucia, general and _see_ if your reports are accurate.”

Hux’s smugness vanishes, replaced with chagrin and no little degree of alarm. “You cannot!”

“I beg your pardon?”

The general’s face smooths out, though he can sense what it costs Hux. “Supreme Leader, your presence would draw unwanted attention and may well alert the Resistance to our knowledge of their whereabouts. And of course, your safety is paramount, we cannot have you endangering your—”

“That is why I won’t be going as Supreme Leader, General Hux. Captain Peavey, prepare my command shuttle, we leave immediately.”

* * *

Felucia’s major trading marketplace is strangely subdued when Rey leaves her contact after finalizing the next shipment of foodstuffs and weaponry.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickle and the Force thrums as she makes her careful way towards the rendezvous point. She struggles to focus as she moves through the busy street, sticking to the edges as much as possible.

Her thoughts are fuzzy from lack of sleep and constant worry. Dreams she has no business having constantly disturb what rest she does manage to snatch. Now the concern they’ve been discovered . . . she shivers despite the warm air.

There is no reason to believe the First Order would suspect Felucia as a base of operations for the Resistance, though they’d moved to Rhen Var just to be on the safe side.

Ben had mentioned the Thanium System, which consisted of many potential hideouts for the Resistance. Nevertheless caution makes her wary, so when she notices the small contingent of stormtroopers with three TIE fighter pilots in their midst she keeps her head down and a steady pace. Surely the First Order wouldn’t be so obvious if they suspected Resistance presence on Felucia?

One of the TIE pilots suddenly turns and stares at her. She pretends interest in a stall selling _muja_ sauce, focusing intently on the seller’s patter. The weight of the pilot’s regard is almost stifling and she breathes a heartfelt sigh of relief when she senses his attention has turned elsewhere.

There is an alley next to the stall and she knows, from studying the layout of the marketplace, that it will eventually lead to the spot she’s arranged to meet Poe and Dakk.

She slips down it, grateful for the shadows cast by the tall buildings on either side. Deep, recessed doorways offer further cover should she need it.

The hard grip on her upper arm forces a startled gasp from her throat as she is propelled into one of the recesses and through a door into a small, empty room.

Fear clutches her throat in a tight vice as she is swung ‘round to face the person who accosted her.

 _The TIE Fighter pilot_.

Her sluggish brain pings with the vague understanding that it is beyond odd for a _pilot_ to accost her versus a stormtrooper. But this is thrust aside under the sudden overwhelming presence within the Force.

The pilot takes off his helmet with a hiss of circulated oxygen just as her brain suddenly makes sense of what her instincts and the Force are now screaming at her.

“Ben!”

A hand over her mouth, the Supreme Leader of the First Order glances around and wills the door behind them shut before turning back to her.

He looms over her, pinning her with his dark gaze. She feels surrounded by him, his broad shoulders and towering height dwarfing the room.

“Wha—”

He swiftly removes his gloved hand as she tries to speak.

“Ben, what are you doing here?”

His lips tighten and he stares at her, his gaze flickering back and forth on hers. “Rey . . . ” He seems at a loss and his deep voice is rough on her name.

“Do the First Order know where we are?” Urgency suddenly bites into her, across the swirling emotions filling the Force to overflowing. She’s grateful to have something to focus on because everything else is just too complicated.

“No. They don’t. But I do.” His dark murmur should perhaps have sounded threatening, but instead it and the Force around them carry a strange mix of satisfaction, longing and something else she refuses to probe.

With slow purpose he tugs off the gloves covering his hands, placing them and his helmet on the small table she just now noticed stands next to them.

She hunts desperately for composure, for what she should say and there is nothing but the surging power of the Force. Biting her lip, she runs her gaze over the breadth of his shoulders in the black flight suit.

A mix of nervousness, shyness and heated expectation churn within her as she suddenly recalls in a flash those shoulders naked, gleaming wet, muscles bulging as he . . .

“Oh, gods.” The power of the memory steals her breath and she can feel the clamour of emotion it engenders explode across the Force and then Ben’s corresponding gasp as it hits him.

She risks a quick peek and he is staring at her, breathing hard. With almost visible effort he collects himself, his mouth working as he reaches out a long finger and captures a strand of her hair.

“We shouldn’t be here. Like this. ” She’s not even sure what she means by her words, is it because they’re on opposite sides of this war? Or because of the powerful riptide dragging them toward each other? The desperate struggle they have to control this thing between them?

His voice is even deeper, rougher, reverberating to her core like a caress. “Rey. I—“ He is suddenly a hairs-breadth away and then, with a bitten off curse he has his hands on her shoulders, a brand through her thin clothes and his mouth—

His mouth is on hers. And it’s hot and real and he tastes of spice and musk and burning metal and his big body is pressed against hers.

It is too much and yet not enough.

The feel of him, the velvety lushness of his mouth, so soft in comparison to the surging hardness of his body as he slams up against her. A moan is ripped from her throat and Ben responds to it.

He tentatively opens his mouth and she invades, tracing the tender inside of his lip before sinking her teeth into the lush fullness . . . just like she imagined . . . _oh gods_.

She’s aware of a throbbing ache between her legs and familiar wetness. Her whole being feels sensitised and she needs her core against him. She wraps her leg around his thigh, as far up as she can go, opening to him, rubbing herself against his shuddering body.

With a bone-deep snarl he tucks a hand under her thigh and lifts her high, adjusting them so the hard length of him is _right there_ , against her.

She can feel control slipping through her fingers, flying free while a crimson thread of desire binds them closer.

In the maelstrom between them she can feel a balance between Ben’s softness and Kylo’s aggression. Was this what Leia was talking about? Could Ben find some form of equilibrium?

With a muffled snarl he lifts her higher and she has no choice but to wrap her legs around his waist and suddenly the table is under her and his mouth is off hers, but he’s ripping his flight suit open, revealing his deep chest, pale skin, wicked scars and powerful muscle.

Then he’s guiding her hand to his flesh and she can’t hold back a gasp at the contact, her skin tingling as she strokes him.

* * *

He can barely think as Rey slides her hand over his chest, brushing a sensitive nipple as the tips of her fingers glide across the clenching muscles of his stomach.

A hoarse gasp is forced from his throat as she slips her hand up, while pressing her palm against him, increasing the contact. It feels like she leaves a trail of fire in the wake of her touch.

The heavy length between his legs throbs and he realizes he is rolling his hips, thrusting lightly, yet insistently against the heat of her core. Her lean thighs ride his hips and he almost loses his mind at the mental images that evokes.

He knows what he wants and this face-to-face contact is so intense and also very different from their last time, in the Throne Room . . .

Shoving the thought from his mind, he concentrates on the feel of Rey beneath him. He wants to touch her, but he hesitates, suddenly uncertain of what to do.

Moving back he stares into her soft brown eyes. She meets his gaze unflinching, unafraid and he marvels anew at her inner strength, her ability to give unstintingly.

They’re both gasping for air, staring at each other in wordless communion. He wants to taste her sweetness again while he decides whether to chance touching her sun-bronzed skin.

“Sir! We’ve lost contact, please respond.” The disembodied, slightly robotic sounding voice shatters the moment.

Rey jerks up, her gaze suddenly fearful as she tries to pinpoint the source of the voice. Her movement inadvertently thrusts the heat of her against his shaft in a smooth glide that almost sends him to his knees.

A rasping grunt is force from him, almost blotting out her feminine gasp. It doesn’t stop her pushing at his shoulders. Wordlessly he gives her space, grateful when her hand remains on his chest even as she drops her head so he can’t see her face.

He tightens his arms around her, but he can already sense her mental retreat. It will be followed soon enough with a physical one and for a brief moment he wants to rage against the thought.

But as his second in command keeps attempting contact, he knows it will only be a matter of minutes before they locate him.

Rey is in danger and he . . . cannot allow that.

Not even pausing to process why that should fill him with both chilling fear and bone deep determination, he straightens and retreats, biting back on the moan-gasp as her hand leaves him.

He feels like he is ripping a part of himself away. The memory of Han Solo touching his cheek spears into his mind and he almost doubles over.

Loss slays him all over again.

The pain surges through him on a breath-stealing tide, but within it he finds his rage and grasps onto it with a desperation he doesn’t want to contemplate.

Jerking the flight suit back into place he growls at Rey without daring to look her way. “You need to leave. Now.”

“Come with me.” Her words are faint, as though she can’t quite believe she’s uttered them.

They hit him like a blaster bolt, nearly doubling him again and he can’t bite back his gasp as the whiplash of emotion in the Force snaps, hitting him like a physical blow.

“I . . . can’t.” The words are forced from him and he cannot look at her as she pauses a moment longer, silently beseeching, before hurrying from the room.

When he can sense she is far enough away he screams out his rage and impotence, throwing the table across the room with the Force so hard it disintegrates into shards.

He strides to the open doorway, gripping the frame so hard it buckles under his hand as he resists with everything he has the desire, the need to _follow_ _her_.


	6. More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Supreme Leader is not quite as bad as everyone thought. Hux is disappointed. Rey's mission to Felucia does not go the way she expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there is no sexy times in this chapter, but it was time for a bit of character development. I promise there'll be smut in the future! Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to leave comments, kudos and bookmark - your patience is finally rewarded! I will try to get the next chapter out with less delay. :)

__

_He has to see her_ .

Face to face.

He doesn’t know why.

 _Liar_.

It has simply become as necessary as . . . _breathing_.

When he’s not with her, he’s unbalanced, swinging between rage and softness, _weakness_ he can’t handle. It’s getting harder to control himself. He needs _more_ of her . . . her touch, her scent, her company, even her anger. _All of it_.

“Supreme Leader, I believe we should establish a covert presence on Felucia. Despite the report you found nothing there, my spies are never wrong.” Hux barely controls his disdain, his top lip pulls into a sneer.

The cracks are showing and Ben wonders how long it will be before the general stages a coup.

He swings around to impale the man with a stare. “Really?”

Hux shifts nervously in his seat before glancing around the table for support and finding none from the other men seated there.

“General, why are you obsessed with using valuable resources to chase down a handful of individuals who have no base, no allies and no resources? Don’t you feel we should be focused on the task of ensuring _the rest of the galaxy_ runs smoothly?”

“With respect, Supreme Leader, the Resistance has been a thorn in the First Order’s side for too long. We _must_ stamp out the last of them or run the risk they garner support and rise again.” Zealotry glows in Hux’s gaze.

This is beyond rage or hatred, and Kylo can only stare wordlessly at the man’s commitment, which borders on insanity and is all the more dangerous because of its fervor.

Premonition creeps up his spine. Rey is in danger. His thoughts, so scattered of late, come together and find a cold focus.

“As you appear to think these lingering remnants of the Resistance are a clear and present threat to the might of the First Order, then it is obvious I need to give this more attention than I initially thought it warranted.”

Hux gazes at him and he can feel the man’s mind scrambling to see where this might lead. “Supreme Leader . . .”

“General Hux, I shall personally return to Felucia and root out the last of the Resistance, if they are indeed present on the planet.”

Hux jerks straight in his chair. “Sir—“

Ben cuts off the protest with a raised hand, rare amusement warming him as the general flinches. “My _full_ attention, general.”

Kylo’s blood heats at the idea of bending all of his concentration to Rey, her smooth skin, silky hair, her determination and strength. His breath catches.

“Captain Peavey, you will assist the general in my absence.”

“Yes sir.”’

Ben stands and Hux shoots to his feet, his agitation finally overcoming his control. “Supreme Leader! I _must_ protest. You cannot just leave your position vacant to chase after a band of Resistance fighters.”

Kylo turns, raises his hand and this time Hux actually grabs his neck. “You said yourself, general that the Resistance still pose a threat. Have you been wasting my time with inaccurate reports?” He suspects grandfather would have been proud at his chilling tone and deadly control.

The pressure on Hux’s windpipe is light, but his own rank fear causes him to choke on his reply. “N-no sir.”

“And, general?”

As Kylo waits for Hux to gather himself enough to answer, a dark figure enters the room.

“Yes, sir?”

“I won’t be leaving my position vacant.” Kylo gestures to the robed and masked individual. “One of my Knights will remain here in my absence.”

Hux flicks a nervous glance at the Knight of Ren. “Yes, Sir.”

Kylo stalks out, his Knight hard behind. After a few paces an amused voice, modulated by the mask worn by the owner fills the silence of the empty hall. “You know he plans to usurp you. But this objective of yours clearly has more weight.”

Kylo stops abruptly and turns to stare at his companion. The Force rolls between them as his control slips. “Do not question me. I am still _Master_ of the Knights of Ren.”

“I see. Then consider the subject dropped.” Silence reigns for a moment as they resume their walk.

The masked face of his companion turns to him. “For the moment.”

* * *

“Reports indicate, well, they indicate that there is growing stability amongst the remaining systems.” See-Threepio sounds as surprised as those around the table look.

“Can’t be true.” Poe dismisses the droid’s report with a wave of his hand.

“Sir, I beg to differ. Almost all system representatives who’ve met with the new Supreme Leader have reported that his position on issues and his responses to problems has been remarkably . . . balanced.”

Rey casts a quick glance at Leia and while her expression remains impassive, there is a sense rolling off her of amused pride.

Shock tingles along her spine. Does Leia _actually believe_ Ben is capable of ruling the galaxy in a just way while head of a despotic regime?

When it’s so clear he will not turn?

As she gazes at the general, it occurs to her that Ben comes from a female line used to governing and more than capable of political savvy. After all, his grandmother was a queen and senator, his mother a princess and senator who has successfully lead both a rebellion and a resistance.

Hope, so hard to extinguish even after their showdown in the throne room, flickers inside her. The growing sexual awareness between them hasn’t blinded her to the fact that from a moral standpoint, they are on vastly different paths.

Confusion clouds her thoughts and the rest of the meeting passes in a blur. As they finish however, a few things are very clear.

Poe Dameron is determined to continue building the Resistance, even amidst reports the First Order’s new leader does not seem intent on enslaving the peoples of the galaxy and is actually quite . . . reasonable.

Leia is torn between this news of her son, and the awareness that there could be deeper things at play here. Rey can also sense a burgeoning concern for Poe’s attitude.

Rey needs to see Ben and find out if the reports are true and . . .

 _his mouth on hers, his powerful hands cupping her shoulders, big body dominating the space between her thighs_ . . .

 _No!_ This is not about the attraction.

She wishes she remained in blissful ignorance. Though now, looking back, she can see it was there through every exchange. Even at Starkiller Base, the first time he took off his helmet and she was confronted, not with a monster, but a man who compelled and confused her so much that she simply couldn’t sort out her conflicting emotions.

So she chose anger and then compassion and all the while ignored her attraction, refusing to recognize the pull as more than something to do with their mutual Force abilities.

She needs more time to sort out the tangle of her thoughts and to resist the desires, which cloud her judgment.

No wonder the Jedi eschewed attachment.

“Rey?” Leia’s concern flows over her. “Are you okay?”

She snaps from her introspection to find the older woman gazing at her and it hits her forcefully where Ben got not only his dark eyes from, but the piercing intensity _and the softness_.

His mother’s boy.

Overwhelming sadness washes through her as she suddenly recognizes, really recognizes how much Ben and his parents have lost.

Leia clasps her arm, obviously sensing the powerful tide of emotion and Rey makes an effort to centre herself.

“I’m fine. Just tired.” She doesn’t feign the shiver. “I’m struggling to get used to the cold after Jakku.”

Leia stares a moment more, then nods. “Why don’t you go on the next supply run to Felucia? We need that shipment of coaxium, it’s only a small amount, so it should be a fairly simple trip, or at least, only as complicated as you make it.”

Rey can feel her brow knot as her gaze snaps to the general. The Force hums with meaning she can’t quite decipher.

“Do you suspect something, general?”

Leia shakes her head and smiles. “I have no intel to suggest you’ll meet with any major trouble, though I guess it depends on what you define as trouble.”

Despite her enquiring stare, the general won’t be drawn, though amusement has returned to that dark gaze, making Rey realize how sad Leia had been.

“See-Threepio, see that Rey is assigned to the supply run to Felucia immediately.” The general turns to Lieutenant Connix who is waiting patiently at her elbow.

The meeting has broken up and Rey makes her way back to her quarters to prepare for the trip to Felucia.

Excitement clenches her gut and she takes a moment to breath deeply through the swirls of anticipation. She’s well aware it’s not the opportunity of getting away from Rhen Var’s icy chill that is the cause.

There is _no way_ Ben is still on Felucia.

She’s well aware he’s returned to the _Finalizer_. Intel said he’d had meetings with representatives from Balamak, a Mid Rim planet that had suffered under both the Empire and the First Order.

She packs the few things she’ll need. They’ll stay overnight in Felucia to avoid suspicion.

It’s a quick walk to the hangar and onto the ship.She passes Finn on the way, there’s only time for a quick update on Rose’s condition and a hug before she boards the shuttle.

As they make the trip, she gazes out the window and can’t suppress the churning mix of anticipation and dread tightening her stomach and making her breathing short and choppy.

_He won’t be there._

Even her quelling thoughts aren’t enough to help calm her.

It’s only when they reach Felucia’s bustling central marketplace and there’s no sign of First Order TIE pilots, indeed much FO presence at all, that disappointment makes her heart sink.

The brutal realization that she is desperate to see him again washes over her. Not only is it a betrayal of the paths they’ve chosen, but of her friends.

He is the enemy. Worse, he’s the _leader_ of the First Order.

She’s a traitor in so many ways and yet she’s still scanning the thronging crowds for any sign of a tall, dark figure.

“Don’t worry, FO presence is light. Most of it is concentrated around the shuttle landing sites.” Sogr glances around, searching for their contact.

Rey’s guilt makes her stomach churn as they move through the quarter until the Mandalorian nudges her again. “I’ll go to the next street over, you keep to this one. The Sullastan shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

He moves away and she continues on until the marketplace splits. Taking the left path she follows it as the both crowds and stalls thin out and the hum of the marketplace becomes distant. Here, the odd inhabitant escapes the burgeoning mid-morning warmth under the shady areas created by second story balconies.

The Force crackles at the same moment her arm is grasped and she is tugged into a patch of shadow under one of the spaces.

Before she meets the intense gaze she knows who it is. The Force is a living thing, moving and shifting with emotion, energy, life. Ben is wearing casual clothes, albeit in his usual black, but the attire is as unexpected as his presence and for a moment, she can’t speak.

But only a moment.

“What are you doing here?” Her tone is snappy and slightly outraged, though her heart tells a different story, thumping heavily in her chest as her gaze flicks over him.

“I came to see you.”

There’s a vulnerability in his tone that tugs at her heart and pricks at her temper, she doesn’t want to feel things for him, she’s already in too deep.

“Why? Hoping to get intel on the Resistance?”

His head jerks back a little before his mouth works, a sure sign he’s biting back on his emotions.

“I already know all I need to about your _Resistance_.” His tone carries a hint of temper and it’s obvious he was expecting a different response from her. 

She can feel it through the Bond too, a mix of anger, hope and need that twists and bucks like an out of control speeder.

“What do you want, Ben?” She’s suddenly tired, but still annoyed.

At the power he has with her, over the fact he’s all she’s been thinking about, at the overwhelming mix of complex emotion filling her.

She waits and when he answers her, with a kind of desperation she recognizes, all the more potent because she feels it too, and her world is blown apart.

“I want _more_.”


	7. Invidia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben gets more. Rey gets angry. An innocent bystander almost gets eviscerated. Ben/Kylo learns to control his temper, but at what price?

_"I want more."_

The silence draws out. Rey’s eyes flick back and forth between his as though she’s uncertain of his meaning.

His words hang in the air as they remain caught, staring at each other, while the Force roils and surges.

He didn’t allow himself to think about the connection between them on the trip here, just let the overriding imperative of his need drive him.

Now, his intentions are no longer a hasty thought in the aftermath of battle, as he held out his hand and begged.

He’s had time to consider _exactly_ what he wants.

She drops her head and steps back, refusing to meet his eyes. He can sense not just her physical retreat, but her mental withdrawal. The same wall she’s been raising between them is sliding back into place.

“I-I don’t know what you mean.”

“ _You do_.” His voice is deep with certainty, a taunting edge. “Getting any sleep?”

Her gaze flashes to his. “How—“

“I’m not. I can’t sleep, barely eat. I struggle to focus because of _this_.” He gestures with his gloved hand, aware he doesn’t need to elaborate.

The air around them is saturated with it. The Force is humming with a sizzling connection that is no longer just about their mutual power, their loneliness.

It surges with emotion . . . _feeling_.

She sways closer to him. He steps forward. Their eyes are locked and it’s as though they will fall into each other, so deep is the link between them.

A cart pulled by two dewback rumbles past. The Twi’lek doesn’t give them a single glance, semi hidden as they are in the deep shadows of the awning.

But Rey snaps to attention, glancing around furtively, as though expecting her friends to leap out of the shadows, or more likely, the First Order.

“What I do is no concern of yours.” Her tone is vicious, cold, her gaze once more holding his.

The Force roars with his response and he takes another step to loom over her. She’s backed herself into a corner. Literally.

He bends down to whisper in her ear, admiring the fact she stubbornly refuses to move or back down. “I know you, Rey. Just as _you_ know _me_.”

“I don’t know you. I thought I did, but I don’t.” Hurt and anger tint the air. She tilts her head to meet his stare. Her lips part slightly at whatever she sees there.

He cannot help himself.

Taking her chin between thumb and forefinger he moves in slowly, so she can feel every inch between them. She doesn’t resist, though he senses her considering it.

Then it’s too late.

Her mouth is sweet, but unyielding and fear and uncertainty grasp him with hungry claws.

Has he misread things?

A sigh whispers past her lips, as though she is impatient with his inexpert fumbling.

Then suddenly she melts, her arms sliding around his neck as she stands on tiptoes to deepen the contact.

His heart leaps like a fathier out of the starting gate. Sensation rushes over him in a savage tide as he tucks her into his embrace, mouths open, tongues twining, desperate breath rasping in heaving chests as they both . . .

Let go.

He can’t get enough of her slim, lithe body in his arms, the scent of her—desert flowers and hot spice in his nose. The slick contact of her mouth on his turns his mind to a remembered snatch of conversation at the temple, “ _girls get wet between their legs when boys touch them, that helps_ , you know . . .”

At the time he’d turned away from the discussion between the other two boys, lip curled in derision. Why bother speculating on something that had no relevance to their training?

Now his mind seizes on it and he is unable to stop his thoughts.

Is she wet, there? Like her mouth is moist and hot on his?

A groan punches out of his chest at the thought as his body tightens and surges, so instantly hard he can barely stand.

He has to get control. They’re in a public place with potential enemies everywhere. The sensations dulling their Force-sensitivity are so overpowering they could be knifed where they stand.

She slides her hand down his throat and into the neckline of his tunic, running across his chest, leaving a burning trail of feeling in her wake. Another gasping moan wrenches out of him, wildness seizing him.

He wants her hands on him.

 _All of him_.

He’s willing to plead right now for that, to throw himself at her feet and _beg_ for it.

Never before has he experienced a sensation stronger than his rage. That riptide is familiar, he rides it like a tame beast.

But this is uncontrollable, a tender yet savage insanity he can’t get enough of, even as terror and desire steal the breath from his throat in equal measure.

“Dear Gods, Ben.” Her whisper is soft against his mouth. “We _can’t_.”

But her hand is still on his skin, tracing the line of her mark. The scar tingles and the muscle jumps under her exploration.

Her fingers brush his nipple and he grunts, bent almost in half as the touch roars straight to his erection, as though she’d stroked him _there_ instead.

His response tears his mouth away from hers, tightens his clothing against her hand and this seems to bring her to her senses.

The Force snaps with awareness like a blast of ice crystals over raw nerves.

She moves away and he sees that her mouth is swollen and pink, pupils blown, hair tangled silk from his fingers.

Rey’s lips tighten and sudden fire flashes in her gaze. “So, now you’ve had _more_. And that is enough. You might be able to waste time, but I can’t. Go back to ruling the galaxy, and leave me alone.”

“No! You can’t . . .”

 _Just leave me_ .

“Rey? Is this guy bothering you?” The Mandalorian is tall, broad-shouldered, with an air of charisma often possessed by that race.

“No.” Rey steps between them, placing her hand on the other male’s arm.

Rage hits him like ion cannon fire at the sight of her tanned skin against that of the Mandalorian’s. The emotion is so sudden, so blinding it literally turns the world black around him as his vision dims, becomes crimson.

Rey’s gasp penetrates his ears, her movement towards him barely perceived.

“Ben? Ben!”

His saber is in his hand, finger on the ignition. He will teach this male that Rey does not belong to him.

_MINE!_

It’s a roar in his ears, his blood. A growl snarls out of his chest and the Mandalorian steps back. “What the—?”

Rey’s hand is over his on the sabre, pushing it down between them, concealing it. Her voice is in his head suddenly.

A cooling balm, a warm weight.

 _Ben, you can’t. He’s no threat. People will see. They’ll know. No one but Sith or a Jedi use a lightsaber. Please, Ben_ .

He meets her gaze. She flinches a little but holds steady. And then he can _feel_ it.

She trusts him, to listen to her, to stop the savagery in its tracks.

And the rage retreats, burning away like steam in the warmth of that knowledge.

 _Thank you_ .

She knows.

Their connection enables her to _see_ the power she wields over him.

Terror rips through him. He cannot allow this. Wasn’t prepared for it. Being equals is fine, a shared balance of power.

But succumbing to her will? To her Light? It opens a ragged wound he can’t face.

The pain is too much.

He has the presence of mind to snap his saber back onto his belt, concealing it under his cloak as he backs away as though he’s seen a rathtar.

“Ben.” She steps towards him, but with a motion he stops her, freezing her in place. Enough for him to turn and vanish into one of the tangled alleys lining the square.

* * *

Rey can barely focus on what Sogr is telling her, so jumbled are her thoughts and emotions. He’d accepted her story about Ben being an old contact from Jakku, though she can sense his curiosity hasn’t been completely assuaged. So she prompts him for information regarding their meeting with the coaxium supplier.

“So he won’t be here until tomorrow morning at the earliest.”

She wrenches her thoughts from Ben and nods. “I suggest we go back to the shuttle.”

Sogr is already shaking his head. “We should stay at the Wild Bantha. Not only have I booked rooms, it’s close to where I’ve arranged to meet our dealer.”

She nods and follows the Mandalorian, but her thoughts are consumed with the dark tangle of emotion she sensed in Ben. He was so _angry_. She’d never felt such rage from him, not even on Starkiller Base.

Why Sogr, with his pleasant face and friendly demeanour was the object of so much fury confounds her.

Not for the first time she wishes she had someone to talk to about all this.

They reach the inn before she’s come to any kind of peace.

The interior of the Wild Bantha is dim and it takes her a moment to adjust. Not quickly enough to avoid bumping into someone much smaller than herself.

“I’m so sor—Maz?” She gapes down at the person whom she’d almost trampled in stunned disbelief.

“Shh. Not so loud. I’m _undercover_.” Maz sounds positively gleeful. As though she’s indulging in some sort of exotic novelty, before continuing with her customary abruptness, “What am I doing here? A good question.”

“I didn’t ask—”

“Never mind that. Come with me.” The wiry female grasps her hand and leads her to a small room, completely ignoring Sogr’s confused expression.

Rey barely has time to mouth, “It’s okay, I know her” before Maz has shut the door in the Mandalorian’s face.

Maz turns around after inspecting the furnishings with something akin to contempt. “Well? How goes it?” Her tone practical, she gazes at Rey with an air of calm expectancy.

Rey struggles to find some form of mental footing. “How goes _what_? What are you doing here?”

The small woman sighs and sits down in one of the room’s two chairs with an air of disappointment before fixing her with a shrewd stare which sees, in Rey’s opinion, far too much.

“I was in the marketplace today. Saw two young Force users in a . . . very interesting exchange.”

Rey chokes, her brain seizing up in sheer panic.

Maz steeples her fingers in front of her, gaze unwavering. “Always did have trouble controlling his emotions. Too much like the rest of his family, that boy.”

Blinking rapidly she finds words tumble from her mouth and briefly wonders if Maz actually _is_ a Force user instead of just sensitive to it. “He’s—he left. Abruptly.”

“Yes, probably for the best. Can’t have him carving up innocent people in public with that lightsaber of his. Very distinctive, not easily forgotten.” Maz’s tone is impassive.

“I don’t know _why_ he keeps coming back. Or _why_ he was so angry with Sogr.” All of her confusion and helplessness pours itself into the words. “It’s not like Sogr threatened him or even recognised him.”

Maz eyes her, head twisted to the side, as though Rey has said something unbelievable. “My dear girl. You are seriously telling me you have no idea why Ben Solo might be enraged at you apparently in the company of another man?”

All she can do is stare at Maz and remember the Force boiling with rage, terror, pain. She’s never seen Ben—Kylo, back down from anything. “He—at the end—he wasn’t angry.”

Maz sighs, her expression world-weary yet amused. “Ben Solo was angry because he was jealous. And he was frightened because you asked something of him. And he complied, in spite of himself.”

The tiny alien leans towards Rey, her gaze now sharp, piercing into Rey as though she would inspect the contents of her soul.

“You have a great deal of power over the Master of the Knight of Ren, now the Supreme Leader of the galaxy, _Ben Solo_. The question is . . . what are you going to do about it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smut's not done yet. Chapter 8's probably going to need a couple of firefighters. ;)


	8. Nightfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maz realises Rey's not quite ready for the truth. Things get hotter than Tatooine's deserts. Ben gets shot at. Again. Also, hints of fish nuns and green milk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is smutty. I mean, I've written waaaaay smuttier, but, you know, my level of smut tolerance is super high. If you find smut offensive, you probably shouldn't read this chapter. Also, it is quite long.
> 
> Things will probably get more descriptive (read graphic smut) but I'm currently gauging everyone's response. Because I didn't think this was canon-compliant, but lovely people keep saying it is, and I'm trying to work in the graphic smut and make it feel like we're still working the canon. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to comment. In my RL career, responding to comments is verboten, so I'm kinda working up to it here. In the mean time, please know that each one is greedily read and absorbed and sometimes I wiggle happily in my writing seat (which makes the cat give me a considering stare).

Rey’s bed in the Wild Bantha is large enough for two, plenty of room to spread out. It’s also soft and clean.

Consequently she can’t get to sleep.

Her skin is oversensitised, body aching for a heavy weight, the scent of storms and hot spice.

Her thoughts are a _mess_.

She focuses on the conversation with Maz Kanata as a preferable alternative to the flashes in her mind’s eye of Ben in various states of undress . . . _the taste of him, the feel of his big body, silky skin over thick muscle_.

“Argh!” She presses her fists into her closed eyes and redirects her wayward mind to this morning’s encounter.

* * *

Maz had peered at her a moment more after her stunning query regarding Ben. Then abruptly changed the subject, talking about the union dispute she’d been ‘handling’.

And asking how her boyfriend was doing in such quick succession Rey could barely keep up.

Then delivered another verbal, hip-fired blaster shot.

“I knew Ben’s grandfather, you know. Good looking lad, until he went Dark.” Maz shakes her head. “Han was always impetuous too. If you ask me, the women in the family have always been much more sensible. Leia should have had a daughter . . . ”

She casts an assessing glance at Rey. “On the other hand, Ben has . . . _potential_.”

“Potential for _what_ , Maz? I thought he would turn, but he went down a path I can’t—I can’t _follow_. I thought Ben’s choice _wasn’t_ made, but . . .”

“And it’s still not!” Maz slams her diminutive fist on the table, making the vase of delia pavorum rattle. “My dear girl, what made you think any of this would be easy? Surely life has taught you that the things worth having are only gained with hard work, patience and faith.”

“You don’t understand. I had a vision. When Ben and I touched for the first time, I-I saw him turn. It was so clear.”

Maz’s sigh is gusty. “If there were any Jedi left, they’d tell you that Force visions are open to interpretation—”

“But it was so _real_. I _felt_ it.”

Another sigh from Maz, this one impatient. “Look, I’m no Force user, but I know the ways of it and I’ve known quite a few Jedi and Sith in my time. Very talented males in their own way.” Her voice takes on a tint which makes Rey think there is more than one meaning to the tiny alien’s interpretation of the word _talented_ , but she’s not sure what it might be.

Maz stares into the distance with a reminiscing half smile on her face for a moment more before snapping her gaze back to Rey. “The visions hint at possibilities, potential. Have you had any others since that first one?”

“No.”

“You’ve certainly had enough contact.”

Rey’s face is so instantly hot she’s certain it must be glowing in the dim room. “I—” Staring at Maz’s soul deep expression, she’s pretty sure there’s not way to dissemble with this knowing female.

“He’s not exactly a bad leader.” Maz throws the statement into the silence that follows. “The galaxy is actually quite stable. If he can keep that idiot Hux under control.” Her tone indicates she feels this might be like battling to contain a nerf herd in musk.

“He’s a monster.” The words feel hollow and Maz’s old-fashioned look heaps embarrassment on top.

She doesn’t need to say that Rey either has a particular fondness for monsters or doesn’t think Ben is as much of a monster as she first believed.

And the alien would be right . . . on one count at least.

She’s not _fond_ of Ben Solo.

At all.

She’s simply concerned for him. About him.

Yes, definitely only _about_ him. And what he might do as Supreme Leader.

“There are worse things than being the object of the leader of the galaxy’s attention.” Maz pats her knee. “If you need any advice on handling him, I’m more than happy to help. If I were a lot younger, I’d consider _handling_ him myself.”

The Force suddenly crackles with tension and with only the faintest twitch Maz purses her lips while her magnified eyes sparkle.

After a moment in which Rey struggles to regain her composure Maz slaps her thighs. “I must be off. Do remember, dear child, I’m always ready to lend aid. Say hello to that Wookie for me.”

And them Maz is gone and Rey is left to consider her words.

* * *

A rush of air snaps Rey from her drowsy, edge-of-sleep thoughts. Strangely, she’s soothed almost instantly by the realization of who is in the room. The dark figure moves closer to the moonlight flowing through the windows.

His face is tight with emotion, mouth working and the Force shifts and twists under the tension.

“Ben?”

After a brief hesitation, he sits on the end of the bed, it dips slightly under his weight and she marvels at the strength of the Force Bond.

Perhaps he’s still planetside and this is why the Bond is so strong.

“I—have no idea what I’m doing here.” His voice cracks a little at the end and compassion rushes through her in a warm flood.

“The pull to the Light. I feel it.” His leather clad fist clenches where he rests it on his knee. “I feel it in _you_.” He turns to stare at her, the moonlight painting the scarred half of his face in a stark wash of bleached white, while the other remains in soft shadow.

His dark gaze is tormented.

Rey acts on instinct, reaching out to him. “You’re still not alone, Ben.”

He stares at her outstretched palm before sliding his gloves off and interlacing their fingers, his big hand engulfing hers.

There is a sense of _giving in_ to something and she almost regrets her words. Fear grips her for a brief moment as the Force roars with the contact between them.

She needs to remind herself that he’s made his choice.

But hope keeps trying to stifle her attempts at realism.

After a moment he tentatively slides closer, placing her hand against his breastbone.

His heart is pounding despite his outward appearance of relative calm.

Again, she’s amazed at the strength of the Bond. Undiminished by Snoke’s death.

His chest heaves under her touch and through the Force she can sense it’s not just internal conflict wrenching at his composure—the very fabric of who he is.

The Force is heavy with something else and she already feels it rising inside her. The pull to Ben is more than about their shared abilities or the Bond. It’s deeper.

 _Lust. Passion_. _Attachment_.

Things that lead to the Dark Side according to the Jedi.

But she cannot understand how something that feels so right could possibly be wrong.

He leans closer, but he’s still hesitating, asking her permission, she can sense this through the Force.

And none of it feels like something evil.

It’s gentle and soft, dark yes, but like a quiet night in the sweet comfort of a protective embrace. Not the bone-deep chill of the cave on Ahch-To.

She closes the space between them. His mouth is soft and plush under hers, his hair a silky temptation for her fingers as she cups his face.

The touch of his tongue on hers sends lightning streaks of fire through her veins and she’s suddenly tugging at his dark robes, wanting to feel the warmth of flesh over heavy muscle.

She leans back to make sense of his clothing’s ties.

He remains passive under her touch, inciting a boldness she doubts she’d otherwise exhibit. But in this moment he is hers to do with as she wishes.

And in the warm dissociation from reality of the Force Bond, she has a freedom that everyday life doesn’t offer her.

After another beat, he releases the thick, leather belt around his waist. Suddenly the layers of clothing are parting easily under her fingers, sliding off his shoulders, revealing the broad expanse of his chest to the tender caress of the moonlight. The scars she’s left on him.

Something darkly possessive slides through her as she traces them.

His chest hitches on a breath as her fingers graze a flat, masculine nipple.

The lightning crack of sensation resonates through the Force and his breath stutters to a halt completely for a small span of time before shuddering out of him in a fierce rasp.

Then he is moving, patience split asunder.

And she’s back against the pillows as the kiss deepens and he tugs her sleep tunic over her head.

There is not even a moment to feel any embarrassment because the burning heat of his skin is against hers, the silk of it chafing her nipples, sending liquid fire to her core.

She’s already aching and wet.

_She wants him to touch her there._

_She_ doesn’t _want it in equal measure._

His pants are half undone somehow and she can see the fine dusting of hair that leads down to the most masculine part of him.

He shifts more fully onto the bed, sliding between her thighs, rolling his hips and arching his back to fit the most intimate pieces of them together through layers of fabric.

A guttural shout bursts from his throat at the first touch, drowning out her feminine cry.

It takes a moment, but only that, before they are moving together.

As flawlessly as they fight together.

 _It’s perfect_ .

He looms over her, one powerful arm supporting his weight, the other grasping her hip, angling her body to deepen the contact. The steely length of his erection rubs over her core, the tiny bud at the centre blooming at the contact.

The sliding friction is too much and not nearly enough. She hooks her thigh over his hip and he grips it in his big hand as he surges against her.

Their rasping breaths fill the room.

And then, like the finest of fabric the barrier between their minds rips away and she can feel what he’s feeling, the soft heat of her body against the burning length of his cock. He’s wet, leaking from the tip. The brief idea of her pink tongue swiping away that moisture flashes between them.

It doesn’t disgust her. Instead, her need ramps higher.

His guttural moans and grunts are animalistic and deeply masculine, following the rhythm of his hips.

The power of his movements makes her small breasts bounce and she senses his attention on them.

She knows he _sees_ her sudden desire to have his mouth on the tips.

He complies.

The wet heat against her nipples drags a keening cry from her throat.

Her body is striving towards something now, the ache between her legs almost painful, only assuaged by the stroke of his erection.

His body is aching too, the heavy twin weights underneath his cock drawing tight, tingles starting at the base of his spine with each long stroke.

They feed on each other’s sensations through the Force and it magnifies _everything_.

She can sense the peak of something just within her grasp.

Suddenly, warm knowledge fills the Force Bond, though it’s scattered, burning thoughts rather than anything particularly coherent.

Ben guides her clumsily, yet gently to what she seeks.

Her body tightens, shimmers of pleasure flooding her as it rolls through her body in a wave. It is so intense she finds relief in crying out.

Ben is shuddering above her, his smooth strokes now short and choppy against the sopping wet fabric between them.

 _“Fuck.”_ The word shoots from between his clenched teeth as he reaches down to milk his cock through his clothing. She feels his orgasm ripple across the Bond, an explosion of shockwaves that move out from his core.

It tips her over the edge again and they are clinging to each other like survivors caught in the aftermath of a sandstorm.

His weight crushes her and she wiggles a little so she can breathe. Somehow the pressure is comforting as they slide slowly down the peak of ecstasy and into something close to contentment.

Peace.

Long minutes flow past and the Force Bond remains uninterrupted. Rey marvels at it in a sleepy way, but she’s too satiated to think hard on it.

Ben shifts off her and it is the unpleasant and sudden chill of air against the sodden fabric of her pants that snaps Rey into full reality.

“What!”

Ben moves quickly to see what she’s exclaiming over and rolls off the bed with a heavy thump. He scrambles to his feet, clutching his pants together with hard fingers, searching the room with the other as his saber flies to his free hand, igniting and filling the space with a crimson glow and the crackle and hiss of power.

He shuts the blade off almost as fast and turns to stare at Rey, a question hovering on his lips.

“What are you doing here?” She spits the words at him, barely able to get them out through the rage seething inside.

He stares at her as though she’s insane.

“I-I thought we were having a Force Bond session. I didn’t think it was _real_. ”

The words sound incredibly foolish with a huge, looming, half-naked Ben Solo standing a few steps away. His expression appears to indicate he’s just doubled his estimation of her craziness.

She hastily clutches her discarded tunic to her chest as his gaze starts to drift downward.

Then awareness storms through his dark stare. “You thought this was a Force Bond session? So, what, you wouldn’t have—” He pauses and a flush darkens his cheeks. “Done _that_ if you’d realised I’m actually here? Which, by the way, I mentioned.”

“Yes. No.” She gathers her scattered wits and falls back on the reliable outrage which has seen her through so many encounters with Ben Solo _and_ Kylo Ren.

“If I need company, I don’t have to seek _yours_.”

It takes a moment for her meaning to sink in.

His reaction is _incendiary_.

He takes a menacing step forward, a warning growl ripping from his throat.

The Force explodes with rage and hurt, the backlash so strong it forces a gasp from her chest and for the first time in a long time, she is genuinely afraid of the man in front of her.

“The Mandalorian?” His words are a snarl. “He’s a dead man.” The rage is now deadly cold.

Focused.

“No! Don’t be silly. I just—”

“If anyone, _anyone_ touches you. I’ll kill them.” His tone and the Force carry zero doubt.

Fear grips her by the throat.

 _This_ is the Dark Side.

“No one, but me. You are _mine_.”

It takes a moment but the comfort of anger replaces her terror.

His words do it.

“I am _not_ yours!” She snatches up the blaster from the bedside table and fires wildly at him.

He flinches back. It’s obviously not enough to truly worry him, he knows she missed on purpose. But it certainly snaps him from the depths of his fury.Enough to realize he might just have made a tactical error.

“Get out!” She’s up and screaming at him now.

It doesn’t give her more than a moment’s pause.

Between the smoking hole in the wall and her yelling, they’ll have the whole place awake and coming to see what the furore is about.

Something both of them could do without.

He realises it the same moment she does. The Force resonates with this understanding. With one more fulminating, yet silent stare, mouth working on chewed back words, he snatches up the remainder of his clothes and storms out.

* * *

Rey stares listlessly into the very unappealing glass of green-tinted milk in front of her. She’s exhausted and they’re due to meet the coaxium trader in a short while. She’d barely got any sleep the previous night.

“What happened? I had to pay the innkeeper double.” Sogr only sounds mildly chiding.

“I was cleaning my blaster. It went off.”

She glances at the Inn’s two cleaners, who throw her dirty looks while muttering under their breath.

“I don’t think they like me.” She’s too tired to worry overmuch.

“I can’t imagine why.” Sogr’s tone is filled with irony. “Come on, our contact will be at the rendezvous point shortly.”

Sogr bustles them out of the Wild Bantha, throwing out a couple more apologies for Rey’s misfiring blaster and then they’re making their way through the already busy marketplace.

“Did you manage to catch up again with your friend from Jakku?”

“What? Oh, no.”

Sogr shrugs good-naturedly. “Guess you don’t have much to say to each other when it comes to the past.”

“No. No we don’t.”

The Force almost burns with the depth of the lie.


	9. Temet Nosce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo Ben takes a few backward steps, only to move forward again in the most unexpected way. Rey is stunned. Hope is renewed. Someone Had to lose a limb at some point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's no good writing smut if the characters aren't moving forward. I must admit, Ben kinda took things into his own hands here - I had nothing to do with it *throws hands up* then *points at Ben*, it's all his fault!
> 
> Thank you so much to all who've commented, left kudos and those special people who have done both - may the cake gods bless you! Seriously though, comments help where sometimes inspiration flags. It's literally like catnip for authors. (I mean, except we don't run around like nutcases - well, I don't.) I just smile secretly to myself. Which makes those around me very nervous. (I should really tone down the evil laugh.)

The chill night air is like a smack to his face. He’s aware of his damp clothing.

This reminds him of what he was just doing to get that way.

His knees almost buckle and he staggers as the memories slam into him with the force of a meteorite.

Hot skin, sweet and burning in his mouth, his nose. Small hands on him, her body under his.

_The soft cradle of her thighs, so perfect for the hard thrust of his hips._

Shared knowledge, feeling her not just physically, but _mentally_.

_He knows exactly where and how she wants to be touched now. What she wants him to do to her, with her. He imagines how the hot, tight, wet clasp of her flesh might feel._

He stumbles.

_Fuck._

The power of what he just experienced in that room is mind-blowing. It has nothing to do with Dark or Light, there’s no push-pull in his mind, his soul.

Just the two of them.

Together.

Moving in unison. A perfect balance.

He’s had a taste and by the fucking Force, he wants _more_.

 _All of it_ .

And she feels the same way.

A breeze presses against him, cold seeping in, chasing away the heat.

The certainty.

_Does she?_

She was quick to point out that it’s not necessarily him she needs to discover this with.

Rage snarls through him. Instant, scorching. Tightening his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

Riding hard behind it is panic.

Clouding his mind, making him want to run. Desperation clawing at him to escape the feeling, the need to . . . _do_ something. _Anything_ that will stop the monster tearing at his mind. Whispering in his ear, ‘ _You will_ never _be good enough_ ’.

The anger always saved him. Rescued him from his parent’s indifference, their eventual fear, Luke’s hatred. His family’s lack of faith. The disgust and horror he brings forth in those around him.

Always, the rage had been there, with the dark voice, helping him to feel better, stronger.

Able to step away, not cling to people who obviously don’t . . . don’t _love_ him.

But it has all been a lie.

He’s not better.

Even after everything he’s put himself through, forced himself to carry out, he’s still not _good enough_. And he still needs . . .

Acceptance.

To not feel so very _lonely_.

He sucks in a deep breath. The voice is gone. Rage can’t crush this.

He’s _absolutely_ alone.

The terror grows, a dark beast ready take _everything_ , leaving him with nothing.

 _He_ is nothing.

Another shaky inhalation that sounds more like a sob as he tries to drag himself back from the edge.

A noise sounds through the sleeping night. Even though it’s unrecognizable, something about it penetrates the suffocating darkness of his thoughts.

The present snaps around him like a slap.

He strains to listen and though he’s expecting it, when the noise comes again it makes him jump a little.

It issues from a narrow gap between two buildings, ahead, slightly to his left.

 _Something is wrong_. The Force ripples with it, awareness prickling the back of his neck.

Pure instinct driving him, he plunges into the black gloom of the alley.

It takes a few moments for his eyes to adjust and he soon sees what has focused his attention through the Force.

A hulking Crolute has two small boys cornered in a dead end. He’s holding a knife and the ear of one lad.

“Where’s the goods, boy?” He moves the glinting blade closer. “I’ll cut yer ear off and send you back to the slums of Corellia if you don’t speak up now.”

“I told you, there were too many people around. Besides, he’s poor, he can’t afford us taking them.”

With a growl the Crolute shakes the boy by his arm. “I don’t care if he can’t afford it. You do as you’re told.” He delivers a blow, but the boy senses it and ducks enough to deflect the strike which would have crushed his skull.

The Force ripples again.

Ben stops thinking.

Crimson fills the alley along with the hissing snarl of his saber.

The Crolute stares in shock at the bleeding stump of what’s left of his arm. Then, with a cry of terror, snatches up the dismembered limb and lumbers towards the alley’s entrance.

Ben turns to gaze at the boy, the crackle and spit of his saber the only noise in the ensuing silence. “What’s your name?”

“Mattemi Laiarb.”

“You’re from Corellia.”

“Yes, me and Chatra.” He indicates the dark-skinned boy, who is out cold, a trickle of blood glistening on his temple.

Ben and Mattemi stare at each other and the Force ripples again, with fear, awe, awareness. This kid is sensitive to it. The other one isn’t.

A grim sense of irony fills him.

He knows what he has to do.

It pulls at him, _demanding_.

He gives in.

_Just this once._

“Come with me.”

“No.” The boy glances at his unconscious friend.

With a sigh, Ben leans down and scoops the almost non-existent weight of the unconscious lad into his arms before turning to stare at Mattemi, one brow raised.

“Are you a Sith Lord?”

“No.” He turns to the mouth of the alley, the boy follows.

They walk into the moonlight soaked marketplace. There’s no sign of the Crolute.

Ben stops, irresolute. Then heads back to the Wild Bantha.

It takes less than a moment to procure a room. He soothes the innkeeper’s suspicions about him and his ‘sons’. Aware of the couple of people lingering in the main room, he gives the innkeeper a mental prod to hurry.

There is nothing about this situation that makes him particularly happy, but he can hardly return to his shuttle with two brats in tow.

He’s filthy, they’re filthy and he’s suddenly bone-deep tired. The innkeeper agrees to have their clothes laundered and ready for morning, supplying spare sleepwear for a price. The tunics swamp the boys, their arms like twigs, ribs poking out like stray hounds. He orders food.

Settling down into the second twin bunk he closes his eyes and lets the enormity of what he’s just done wash over him.

He’s frankly stunned.

_What the fuck is he doing?_

* * *

 The morning finds his quota of children has risen to three.

“Who is this?” His snap makes them flinch.

“My sister, Remikyre.” Mattemi tugs the little girl closer, she’s barely out of toddlerhood, but there’s a wisdom to her eyes that belies her years. She’s clean, but her clothes are nothing more than rags.

He buys new clothing in the marketplace. Chatra and Remikyre stare at him in awe. Mattemi with a mixture of hope and cool regard, reminding him of Rey.

He’s been wondering what in all the systems he’s going to do with three brats. The only thing he’s certain of is wanting them well away from the First Order.

And suddenly Rey is his answer. He knows which bay their shuttle is in and he’s also aware the Resistance collects waifs and strays, they’ll at least be safer than they would be on the streets.

_‘Compassion is a weakness!’ Hissing venom, disappointment rolling through the Force, crushing him._

He shakes off the memory and hustles the kids at a brisk pace. There’s no time to lose, Rey may have already gone . . .

The pain of this strikes him like a physical blow. Sucking in a sharp breath, he reaches out into the Force. Her presence is bright, strong. She hasn’t gone. Relief washes over him, for more reasons than he cares to name.

“Where are we going?” Mattemi stops abruptly, his sister and friend following his lead. He’s accepted the new clothes and food unquestioningly and Ben has to suppress the sharp twitch of anger at his sudden obstinacy.

“I’m taking you to a—friend of mine.”

“Is she like you?” The child sighs impatiently as he hesitates. “I mean does she have the same power?”

“She is strong in the Force, yes. Though she is not like me, she’s . . .”

 _Light. Hope. Faith._ Home.

“She’s good.” 

* * *

 Rey moves down the ramp to collect the last box of supplies when the Force slams into her consciousness. A gasp rips out of her throat as she meets Ben’s gaze.

But what makes her halt midstride is the fact he has three children clustered in front of him. A little girl with huge, dark eyes and soft curls is clutching onto his robes with one hand and sucking the thumb of the other.

“Ben!”

“They need to get off this planet.” His voice is deep, abrupt.

“What about their parents?”

“They’re scavengers.”

Their gazes lock and a world of understanding passes between them as she stares into his dark eyes. Shock pounds inside her, along with a spark of hope that is so bright it almost steals her breath again. 

He nods to one of the boys, who is clearly related to the little girl. “He’s Force sensitive. They can’t stay here, there was some trouble last night, people will be hunting them.”

“He rescued us from Rinkar.” The boy nods at Ben. “I’m Mattemi, this is my sister, Remikyre and my friend, Chatra.”

Rey’s aware she’s now been standing in silence for a bit and is getting some odds looks. But she is struggling to comprehend the fact that the Supreme Leader of the First Order, Kylo Ren, is standing in front of her surrounded by three waifs he _rescued_. 

“You _saved_ them?”

Ben’s gaze flicks around the shuttle dock, a faint flush hitting his cheeks and turning the tip of one ear pink. “Can you take them?” He nudges the children forward. The little girl resists, clutching his black robes tighter and tucking in to his knee.

Desperately suppressing a grin, even as her heart is melting at the sight of her most powerful adversary—virtually a Sith Lord—gently disengaging the little girl’s hand, tucking it in his huge palm.

“Yes.” She stops her impetuous steps forward. “Just a moment.”

Sogr is reluctant to say the least. “We are in the middle of a war with the First Order, we can’t bring children into it.”

“They need somewhere safe, just for the moment. Their lives are in danger.” 

A huff of impatience from the dark figure at the foot of the entry ramp. He raises an arm and Rey can feel the compulsion hit Sogr like a supernova. “You will take these children and find a safe home for them.” 

Sogr nods dumbly. Rey hopes Ben hasn’t given him brain damage. 

Mattemi stares at Ben with something akin to hero worship. 

He turns to the boy. “You will _never_ use that unless absolutely necessary.” He pauses and another flush races across his cheeks. “Such as if your sister’s life is in danger. Understand?” 

Mattemi nods, as does Chatra and Remikyrie. 

“Off you go.” He nudges them towards the ship, the little girl is reluctant and Rey has to take her hand. She glances back at Ben with soulful eyes. “Benba.” 

Mattemi turns at the top of the ramp. “You were wrong you know.”

Ben raises an eyebrow in mute enquiry. 

“You’re good too.” 

She can feel the affect the words have on him, the stunned amazement, inclination to disbelief then a small, fierce flare of something she can’t quite name. 

She hustles the kids into the craft, before coming back down the ramp. He’s standing there as though rooted to the spot.

His gaze is dark, vulnerable. 

With a sigh she stands on tiptoes and plants a gentle, chaste kiss on his cheek. As though in a daze he bends down slightly to receive it. 

“Thank you.”

She hurries back up, hitting the close mechanism on the way, risking one last glance. He’s standing on the dock, wind whipping his black hair and robes around him like dark flags. 

But the Force, it burns with something other than darkness. 

The Light in Ben Solo hasn’t gone out.


	10. Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey has some big realisations. Ben discovers a new emotion. Poe reminisces about that time on the Raddus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a bit o' smut. But story progression is a thing that has to happen, as is character development, so it's not as smutty as it could/should/would be if I threw storytelling out the window. Smut is coming. Geddit? Teehee! 
> 
> Also, I am sorry this has taken so long. I had to work. As some of you know I edit and write romance professionally IRL, so I will NEVER abandon a work unfinished, for both this reason and because I know the pain of falling in love with a piece of work on A03 and then finding it's never been completed. 
> 
> If you haven't already discovered it, I also write an AU Reylo fic - 'What Doesn't Kill Me' (chapter 3 drops today). I try to keep it as canon-y as possible, so have a look if you're teetering on the fence of AU. ;)

“Rey, where in all the systems did you get these children?” Leia’s voice holds husky exasperation as she gazes at the group in disappointed alarm.

Rey feels the weight of her censure keenly and for a moment toys with the idea of blurting out the truth, ‘ _Your son gave them to me_. ’

But here and now, with Poe, Finn and half the Resistance leadership looking on is not the pla—

“Some Jedi-type handed them over.” Sogr dumps the crates holding the coaxium with less care than could be taken with something so volatile. “I mean, he _looked_ like a Jedi.”

Leia’s gaze turns sharp as she swings her head in Rey’s direction.

She can see where Ben got his piercing, intense stare.

After the briefest moment, the general turns to the woman hovering at her side. “Lieutenant Connix, please find somewhere for these children to sleep, give them some food, then locate a suitable family—”

“I’ll look after them.”

Rey glances at the newcomer. Rose Tico stands straight, though she still has a bacta strip on her forehead, determination flows from her and she twitches away from the supportive hand Finn keeps putting on her elbow.

“Very well then.” Leia nods to the children, “This is Rose, she will take care of you until we can find a safer and more suitable place for you.”

Rose motions them closer, a sweet, welcoming expression on her face. A twist of wistfulness hits Rey, Unkar Plutt was not nearly as kind. She can see why Finn keeps glancing at Rose with a mix of bewildered admiration and burgeoning adoration.

While the boys go to her without hesitation, Remikyre holds back. Popping her thumb out she stares at Rey with large eyes. “Wan’, Benba.”

Rose glances at Rey in confusion, clearly seeking a translation, which to Rey is all too clear.

“Not now, Remi. Maybe later.” She nudges the little girl forward, nodding towards Rose, “She’s okay, just something we had to leave behind.”

“Rey, could you please meet me in my private quarters?” Ignoring the surprised glances, Leia hobbles from the room, leaning heavily on her walking aid.

“Don’t worry, she doesn’t bite.” Poe grins, then a memory appears to hit him and he unconsciously rubs his cheek, his expression turning rueful. “Much.”

She nods, suppressing a tremor of nervousness as she reluctantly follows the Resistance leader.

The door to Leia’s quarters is barely closed before she spins around, her take-no-prisoners demeanour providing Rey with a glimpse of what she must have been like as a young woman, before struggle, loss and grief had weighed her down.

“What is my son’s involvement in this?”

“He-he saved the children from a trader who was threatening to kill them.”

Leia sinks down onto a seat and for a moment concern washes through Rey as the older woman’s lip trembles and her eyes turn glassy. But almost immediately she becomes impassive, calm purpose flowing through her.

Her gaze flicks to Rey’s.

“There’s . . . still light in him . . .” She can hear the uncertainty, the shock in her own voice but as she talks she becomes absolutely positive that this is the truth.

It flows to her through the Force.

“Ben Solo can still find balance.”

And as she speaks the words, Rey realises with a thrill of shock that this is what feels right. Balance _between_ Light and Dark. Not just in the galaxy, but within as well. Not rejecting the Dark nor embracing it, but accepting its counterpoint to Light. That without one you cannot have the other.

“Yes.” Leia’s gaze hold hers.

 _Did I speak aloud?_ “I’m sorry?”

The general shakes her head, dropping her gaze before meeting Rey’s once more. “Now you understand. It’s not about winning at all costs, nor losing everything. It’s about finding a place between the two. Finding hope. For everyone.”

* * *

“Rey.” Ben’s deep tone is slightly husky, uncertain.

“Mmph. Go away.” She doesn’t really want him to go, but she’s bone tired, chasing sleep like a cracian thumper.

Silence.

“What is it, Ben?” She addresses the direction his voice came from without opening her eyes. The only thing saving the slip up of using his real name is her irritable tone.

“Are the kids okay?”

“Yes. Remi misses you.”

Silence.

“Oh.”

She can sense his shock, the flavour of his thoughts, and a small twinge of sadness lances her that he clearly feels so unwanted, so exiled from the affection of others that he struggles to grasp the idea he might be important to someone.

Not just as a handy tool, or a figurehead for a legacy based on unrealistic ideologies, but just for himself.

A sigh slips from between her lips as she tries to hide her compassion for him.

He’s made his choice.

It sounds tired, this refrain. She doesn’t believe it, but desperately needs to cling to it, or where does it leave her— _them_?

_A place between Dark and Light?_

“What did you say?”

They both speak at the same time, then stop.

She waits.

When the silence drags out too long she rolls over and sits up, raising her gaze to him.

He’s sitting down, forearms resting on his pants-covered legs, pale skin gleaming in the soft light.

She’s beginning to wonder if he ever wears a shirt anymore.

“Rey, would you—“ His gaze flicks to hers, away. He stares at his hands, loosely clasped together in front of him.

“Yes?”

“Would you . . . touch me?”

“Touch you? But you’re almost naked!” Her scandalised tone echoes in the small chamber as her mind immediately flies to the ‘touching’ they’ve done recently.

It surges through the Bond between them and she watches scarlet flags form on Ben’s cheeks. He shifts restlessly, rubbing his palms along his thighs.

“I don’t mean like _that_.”

He stops fidgeting and stares at her in that patient, yet faintly superior way of his. Like she doesn’t understand something obvious. His shoulders move and a slightly impatient sigh echoes through the Bond.

“I mean, _just_ contact.” His tone and thoughts convey this might not quite be true.

However, she also can sense that he’s seeking . . . _comfort_.

His signature through the Bond feels lost, empty. Lonely.

Devoid of his usual simmering fury.

She suspects this is temporary and like an Elomian cherfer, he could become quickly enraged at the slightest provocation.

This quiet space between them feels special, rare.

She reaches out, hesitantly, grasping his long fingers in her own, he shuffles closer. There’s a part of her that wants to ask him to put a cowl on, but a greater part recognizes this as silly after what they’ve already done.

Their knees bump. It’s awkward as they move around each other. This is no throne room dance, it’s clumsy and self-conscious.

He’s so big in the limited space. Overwhelming.

Pale skin, scars, heavy muscle, the crisp scent of snow, and warmth of burnt spices.

She shoves the thoughts out of her mind. But the feeling remains. The heated attraction.

He moves with lithe grace at odds with his muscular frame, sitting on the floor, back against the wall and wordlessly opening his arms.

She senses this is hard for him to do. His dark gaze contains breathtaking vulnerability.

With a shuddering exhale she moves until she’s on the floor too, her arm is round his tight waist, hand splayed across the smooth muscle of his back.

The sensation is odd.

He’s both _there_ and _not there_. A phantom presence yet she can feel him at the same time. It’s hard to distinguish what is reality and what is produced by the Force, and the bond between them.

She doesn’t know what to do with her other hand.

Eventually she settles it on his chest just above his heart. Its beat is steady.

Her own pulse flutters and she marvels at his calm.

“I’ve had a lot of practice.” He deep voice breaks the silence. Startles her a little. His arms, which are around her, tighten.

“At meditating. I’m not that calm.” His tone is rueful. “Can’t you feel it, Rey?”

“I’m not—I don’t—“

“Reach out through the Force.”

She’s been trying to block him and herself, her emotions are too conflicted right now and she doesn’t want to reveal how being this close to him makes her feel, both physically and mentally.

But letting go is easier than she thinks.

Closing her eyes, she dips into the energy of the Force as though immersing herself in a vast ocean.

Like an ocean it contains immense power. She dives further, seeking the balance between storm-tossed seas and gentle shoreline.

A breath punches out of her as awareness hits like the blow from a staff.

In this moment she realises that no one _masters_ the Force. They simply choose a place to be one with it.Dark or Light, passion or control.

But in a flash of blinding clarity she also discovers that to truly know it, one must find its heart, between life, death, passion, serenity, there is a space that is small but also immensely powerful.

It is balance between all things.

Suddenly she feels a presence and understands that Ben has followed her and that they are in this place together. They’ve been here before, in brief moments only. She hasn’t recognised it because at the time she’s been consumed with other things.

Opening her eyes she glances up to meet Ben’s dark stare. Sees the same knowledge within his gaze.

Wordlessly he leans down, then she feels the soft, full press of his lips on hers and the power she can sense leaps and surges.

But the warmth and serenity doesn’t break. It simply adds another layer.

He opens and she matches him, deepening the kiss, boldly entering his mouth, tasting the wet heat.

He follows her retreat, thrusting between her lips with growing confidence.

They take turns nipping and sucking, sampling the taste of each other. It is hard to know where she ends and he begins.

He moves, shifting restlessly, lifting her weight with ease until she’s half across his thick torso, legs entangled.

Emboldened, she glides her hands over the pearlescent skin of his broad chest, catching on the scar she gave him as she slips one hand into the lush, silky darkness of his hair.

With the other she continues to explore the rounded curve of his shoulder, measuring the width of his thick bicep before sliding across to the tight pucker of his nipple.

His whole body jolts, one foot shooting out and knocking over the pile of Jedi texts next to her bunk.

The sound of the books hitting the floor coincide with a brisk knock on her door.

Shock rips through her, through him, ricocheting between them like blaster fire.

She opens eyes she doesn’t remember closing and stares at the huge male under her.

His midnight hair is tangled from her fingers, pupils blown so his stare appears black. He’s panting, breath coming from between puffy, kiss-swollen lips.

A quick glance at the rest of him reveals his muscles are pumped and a hard bulge fills his pants between his thighs. A book leans at a drunken angle against one naked, elegant foot.

_He even has nice feet._

The incongruous thought acts to snap her back to full reality and a stunning realisation.

 _Ben is actually here_.

He’s interacting with things in her room. She can feel him under her as a solid, moving presence.

Somehow they’ve done something. Performed some feat which has bridged the many parsecs of space between them in a way she didn’t think possible.

They’d touched hands yes, but it had been fleeting.

The night they’d—at the Wild Bantha—she’d known deep down that he was there. She just hadn’t wanted to admit it.

But this . . .

“Rey? Are you in there?” Poe’s voice is muffled through the door as he taps again.

“Er, yes. Just a moment.”

She uses the excuse of scrambling up to avoid the suddenly fiercely questioning stare of the almost Sith Lord lying in sexual disarray on her floor.

Straightening her clothes she feverishly motions to him to _do something_.

He stands, looming over her.

 _‘Why is_ he _knocking on your bedroom door?’_

It takes her a panic-stricken moment to realise he’s projected the question into her mind.

The rage is back.

He’s glancing around and she knows he’s searching for his lightsaber.

Putting her palms on the tight, hot muscles of his stomach she stands on tiptoe to catch his gaze.

_‘No. Ben, you cannot attack him. And you certainly can’t be here.’_

He stills, staring at her. He’s a wild beast tamed for a moment in time.

‘ _Please, Ben_. ’

Her heart drops as bitterness fills the Force. His mouth tightens, moves as he bites back whatever he wants to say.

_‘Very well.’_

With the words he steps back from her, breaking contact. Straightening to his full height he closes his eyes.

Another impatient knock has Rey glancing ‘round to ensure the doorlock is on.

When she turns her gaze back to Ben, he is gone.

The loss steals her breath for a moment and she cannot stop her instinctive, feverish search for their Bond.

It’s there. And through it she can sense that the brief calm Ben achieved has been shattered. He’s angry and conflicted as ever, but this time it’s driven by a new emotion she’s never felt coming from him before.

Jealousy.


	11. Barriers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What brings Ben and Rey together is also what tears them apart.

“Hey.”

“What is it, Ben? I’m sort of busy right now.” She’s bent over a set of lists, brow knitted in concentration. Her tone is distracted. He’d hoped for something tender, but half expected anger after their last encounter.

Not the one in which Dameron had come knocking on her door.

It had taken him three galactic standard days to overcome his rage at the idea of the hot-shot pilot anywhere near Rey.

Eventually a voice inside his head had got through the churning fury, insisting that the pilot would naturally have contact with Rey, and that seeking her out did not mean he was organising some kind of secret tryst with her.

It was he who was going behind the back of the First Order.

Rey who was ignoring her loyalty to the Resistance.

Because neither of them was making any kind of serious attempt to stop their connection.

In fact, it had gone further than that the previous evening . . .

The Bond still opened without warning, but most of the time now they could will it.

Rey had been the first to do so and it had taken all his abilities not to reveal the shock coursing through him when she’d appeared in the training room on the _Finalizer_ five days after Dameron’s untimely interruption.

Fortunately his Knights had left him just moments before and he was therefore alone.

She’d stood there awkwardly, her gaze darting away from his sweat-soaked chest. “I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

“I’m fine.” He’d had to clear his throat to get the response out smoothly on the second try.

“Good.”

“Quite.”

“Well, I’ll be going, then.” She’d given him a confused look, half accusatory, as though he wasn’t acting the way she expected.

“Stay? Train with me?”

“What?” She blinks. “No!”

“Why not?”

“I-I have things to do, besides I’m not actually there—here.” She gestures to the space around them. “It’d be pointless.”

“No. Not if you focus.” Part of him wonders if it will work again, another fears pushing her in case she finds a way to shut him out completely.

With a huff of annoyance, she closes her eyes. He moves closer, until a hands-breadth separates them.

Suddenly he can feel her warmth, the waft of her breath on his skin.

Without warning a training staff shoots across the room, slapping into her palm. She swings it, cracking it painfully into the side of his thigh.

A surge of anger laced with amusement curls around him as he changes his stance and calls a staff to his own hand.

Almost immediately Rey goes on the attack and he loses ground parrying her blows.But it isn’t long before his superior training and strength enable him to gain an advantage.

He loses it almost immediately.

The Bond is alive as they exchange blows and it becomes apparent that though physically they are different, she’s quick to learn and adapt to this. There is no teacher and student here.

They fight as equals.

With a snapping crack their staffs lock, both of them panting as they stand motionless, staring at each other, sweat dripping off them.

He breaks first, leaning forward he closes the gap between them and kisses her.

Her shock rolls through the Force, but almost instantly he senses her instinctive resistance crumble.

The staffs clatter to the ground and she’s burying her hands in his hair, he’s wrapping his arms around her, pulling her up into his embrace, deepening the kiss.

Sensation roars through his blood, through the Force.

Out of control.

_Don’t worry, I feel it too._

He’s uncertain whether she’s actually said the words or just thought them as her taste explodes across his tongue.

He tugs feverishly at her tunic. She helps, struggling out of the fabric until she is stripped to the waist.

She is shy though and tucks back into the curve of his body.

They both gasp at the contact—skin to skin.

The ripples of awareness are almost too much to bear, breath-stealing, mind-blowing.He can’t stop the way his hands are roaming over her shoulders, her back and then he’s cupping the weight of her breasts, covering them, the nipples tight against his palms.

He meets her fever-bright gaze and there is something shockingly intimate about this moment.

Both of them still.

He slides his hands around her waist, stroking up her back as he tentatively moves his head down to take one rose-tinted peak in his mouth, almost faint at the taste and feel of her.

“Ben!” His name is a gasp from her lips as she sags against him.

They sink to the ground and he shifts his attention to her other breast, gently massaging the first with his palm.

Her hands are locked on his shoulders, but as he moves to take her mouth again, she strokes over the sensitive skin, down his back.

It’s so intense he struggles for breath even as he feels perfectly balanced inside. 

He’s doesn’t have time to marvel at this discovery because Rey shyly reaches down and strokes the length of him through his loose training pants.

“Gnh.” It’s more a shocked expulsion of air than a word. Pleasure shoots from the place she’s touching across his body.

Hands shaking, he fumbles at the fastening of her pants, she attempts to help between feverish kisses along his jaw, both of them suddenly clumsy. Finding the opening, he slips his fingers inside.

Wet, silky heat. Coating his fingers.

He wants more of it, against his mouth, the rigid length of his cock.

Forcing himself to focus, he finds the small, stiff bud at the top of her thighs and brushes it with the gentlest touch.

Her hips buck and she lets out a gasping moan, so he does it again, guided by the Force and her need within the Bond.

Devouring her mouth he strokes her sex until she’s writhing under him. The delicate folds envelope his long fingers as he gently pushes into her.

Her core is so tight.

He imagines thrusting his cock into all that clasping, slippery heat.

“Fuck!”

He wrenches at his clothing, feverishly guiding her hand to his bare flesh, roughly showing her how to run the length of him with her fingers.

They stroke each other in perfect unison.

He alternates between exploring her core and lavishing attention on her clit, focusing solely on the small nub when he senses this will bring her to come for him.

It helps him to restrain his own desperate need to orgasm as her delicate yet slightly calloused fingers stroke him from base to tip, exploring the moisture beading there.

“Harder.” He gasps the word and she complies, running his length with firm strokes.

He can sense this is difficult because of her impending release.

It hits like a meteorite.

Suddenly she’s arching up, pleasure exploding through the Bond, the Force bright as a supernova with it.

Then he is roaring, following her over the edge, caught and held by waves of intense sensation, bucking into her hand.

They lay in a panting mess, fingers in each other’s dishevelled clothing.

To anyone coming in unexpectedly there’d be no doubt what they’d just been doing.

He finally has the presence of mind to will the door to lock.

* * *

Her body throbs, a fluttering beat between her legs and sweet lethargy invading the rest of her.

But she’s not completely satisfied. There’s an ache at her core which the presence of Ben’s thick fingers started and which her orgasm hasn’t quelled.

She can feel the rigid power of his cock. He’s still hard and as she prods at the Bond she can sense that he’s not utterly satiated his thirst either.

He meets her stare.

Seamlessly he moves over her and she puts her hands on his shoulders.

His dark gaze bores into hers, a question there.

She tightens her jaw and nods. Once.

His fingers against her sex are too much and not enough. Then there is something else nudging at the tender entrance to her body. Solid, unyielding.

Her mind shies away from the idea of this being shoved into her, but another wild part of her wants it. _Needs it_.

She adjusts her hips, trying to make room and Ben is patient as he grits his teeth and stalwartly ignores the slide of her body against his erection.

Then he’s pushing inexorably into her, muscles clenching in his deep chest, broad shoulders tense.

He uses one hand to lift her knee, opening her for him. He rests most of his weight on the forearm of his other arm.

The warmth, intimacy and excitement are slipping away. Cold reality is intruding along with the broad heaviness of Ben’s body.

She tries to hold onto the desire, but the truth is this feels like the invasion it is.

Even the warm brush of his mind on hers isn’t helping her instinct to flee this sensation. She can sense Ben’s urge to drive home in one thrust, his struggle to remain calm, go slowly.

“I-I don’t think—” She pushes against his shoulders.

 _Almost there_. His thought is for himself as much as her. Teeth clenched, breath sawing he’s an unstoppable force.

She taps into his experiences of the moment, the silky clasp of her body sends hot shards of need from his cock through the rest of him.

Instinct is telling him to seek more, to move faster. For a moment this burning desire helps and she can feel her tense muscles loosening slightly, allowing him to gain ground. The silky glide makes him groan, more white-hot need spearing through him. Her core flutters.

His hips jerk uncontrollably and there is a sharp pinch.

Ben seems to understand and drives home the rest of the way in one solid thrust.

The pain flares through her and she pants and twists against him, nails digging into his shoulders.

This is not pleasurable.

“Don’t move.” The words are forced out between her clenched teeth as she senses this is what he is about to do.

He stills, but she can feel what it costs him through the Bond. He has never done this before either and it tests his control in a new and unexpected way.

Shuddering, fresh beads of sweat sliding down his face he holds fast.

Lodged inside her, he’s a thick, heavy weight between her legs, an invasive presence in the heart of her and an intrusion on her mind.

She pants, fighting conflicting urges. The desire to get away versus the small part of her that wants this closeness, that senses there is more to this intimacy than what she feels right now.

The pain finally eases and she manages a nod.

Ben slides out partway, then eases back in. She slows her breathing and focuses on trying to relax. A few more thrusts and delicate tendrils of desire begin to wind back around her.

Other things start to bleed back into her awareness. The scent of him in her nose, spices and musk. The leashed power of his big body as he moves over her, in her, helplessly in thrall to the feminine power she unconsciously wields.

He meets her gaze, his dark eyes are glazed-looking, full mouth tight, sweat drips from the strands of black hair hanging in his face.

“You okay?” The words are forced out on a breath and she realises his stare has sharpened on her. He doesn’t slow his rhythm.

“I think . . . ”

“Ahh.” Another tight noise from his throat as he leans into her, forehead touching before he brushes her lips with his.

She relaxes further and he moves faster, deeper. The sensations are a mix of things, but pleasure begins to predominate.

Ben shifts and suddenly his fingers are on her bud, massaging it in time to his thrusts. His hips snap against hers and with a strangled sound he fills her with liquid heat.

His peak hits her like a wave through the Bond and she finds satisfaction of a kind, though her untutored body struggles, her connection to him helps his orgasm become hers.

It is a strange sensation.

He collapses on her, briefly crushing her before rolling slightly, taking the weight back off her. Placing small kisses along her jaw as he shudders against her, she feels his hand stroking her hair.

The Bond is full of . . . reverence, peace, knowledge.

And something else she doesn’t recognise.

It’s a powerful thing that feels possessive, vulnerable, fierce, calm and sweet all at once.

Ben lifts his head and stares at her, still stroking her hair. He exhales a shuddering breath. “That was—“

Suddenly he’s gone. She’s back in her room, the air chill on her damp skin. She glances down, her thighs are sticky with blood and their combined orgasms.

A pang of utter desolation rolls through her and she realises that she misses him almost instantly.

That she wanted a few more of those stolen moments before reality intruded.

Fear surges through her, choking her.

She cannot need him.

She cannot miss him.

She cannot want him with her.

They are on different sides of a vast abyss.

The link between them won’t change the philosophical, moral and practical issues of what they’ve just done.

All they can do now is try to forget what happened and move forward on their chosen paths.

It was, after all, simply a physical act that should not affect them in any other way.

Both of them were curious and things got out of hand.

Shaking off the faint cry of negation in her heart and the prickle behind her eyes, she stands and heads for the ‘fresher.

She resolutely ignores the twinges, the phantom sensation of a big body against her own, a mind within hers.

Practical indifference will help get them through their next encounter and she plans to be as unemotional as possible.

And that means using the knowledge she’s gained and keeping Ben—Kylo out of her head, her thoughts.

And her heart.

* * *

Ben stares at her now as she continues to go over the lists as though, not twenty-fours hours before they hadn’t been utterly connected on every level in an earth-shattering experience that’s deepened their Bond even further.

He can sense a determination in her as she glances up at him with a calm expression.

It takes him a moment to realise she has decided that the intimacy between them changes nothing. That there won’t be a repeat.

She’s not angry.

If anything, she’s completely detached.

A true Jedi.

Cold rips through him and a silent gasp is wrenched from his chest. He wants to double over as the pain hits him like a physical blow.

Instinctively he reaches for his anger.

Even while searching for something that he can do or say to convince her . . .

The rage isn’t there, only chill desperation at the way in which she’s closing this connection between them off.

“Ben, it was simply a physical act. We were both curious . . . I don’t think we need to make a big deal out of it. It meant nothing.”

“It meant nothing?”

“Not on any true level, no.” Her gaze is unflinching, calm.

He realises he cannot read her, she’s erected barriers between their minds that would take brute force to tear down and he no longer has the stomach for that. Not with her. Never with her.

Straightening, he clamps down on his own shields, protecting the vulnerable centre he’s willingly exposed to her. Hiding the agony ripping into the very fabric of his being.

“Of course.” He nods and focuses on closing the connection.

As she fades and he’s back in his room on the _Finalizer_ , he gives in and falls to the floor, gasping with the agony of her rejection.

The words he wanted to say burn on his lips.

‘ _It doesn’t mean nothing to me._

 _Because . . . I love you_. ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so that happened. Maz needs to give Rey a good talking to about breaking bad boy's hearts.


End file.
